


Moonlighting

by ACPL



Series: Devil's Spawn [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), and everything else - Fandom, with just a dash of His Dark Materials
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-19 14:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACPL/pseuds/ACPL
Summary: The Legends are lacking and Sara knows just the person to fix that. Sort of. At least that is the official version. Too bad things on the Waverider don't tend to stay official for very long. Or under control. Or on course, of course.This [story] is written using 100% recycled words. (Terry Pratchett)





	1. Situation Assessment

The Waverider made port in 2017 somewhat unexpectedly – Sara said something about the team wanting to have some time off and catch a game, so they all left, leaving only Zari on board. Ava found her there, tickling away on something in the engine room, only her feet visible as she informed her absently that the rest should be back soon.

Now the cargo bay door sounded open, so Ava decided to head there to see who was the first one to make it back.

As it happened, it wasn't anyone she expected.

Or anyone she knew, for that matter.

A young woman, maybe twenty-five, hopped up the ramp easily and curiously scanned her surroundings.

"You are not supposed to be here," Ava managed to get out. "How did you even— what are you doing here? This is against regulations."

The incomer did not seem half as fazed as she was, however, and dropped her duffels on the floor almost lazily, sizing Ava up and down.

"Sara said to meet her here," she responded offhandedly. "Guess I'm early. Or she's late. Or both. Who are you?"

"I—" Ava actually stutters, "you can't be here!"

"You already said that," an amused retort comes, "and yet here we are."

The annoying smirk nudges a possible association in Ava, especially paired with the distinct accent that became increasingly annoying quite recently.

"You are with Constantine?"

The woman's eyebrows move in light surprise.

"Constantine? I don't think so. Sounds like a name I would remember."

Any further inquiries are cut off by a new arrival.

"Heeey," Sara's voice comes from the outside. "You made it."

The Waverider Captain foregoes the ramp the same way her visitor did and jumps up instead. "You movin' in?" Sara sizes the woman up and down and Ava does the same, taking her appearance in fully for the first time.

She realises her age estimate was maybe a little off – where her clothes and expression suggest the mid-twenties, her posture and light hazel eyes tell a very different story of wind and stars.  
She's wearing an open black leather jacket, paired with black leather ankle Converses on her feet, over a loose dark blue cotton t-shirt. The dark blue jeans look well worn and the whole outfit is topped off by black padded fingerless gloves, dark sunglasses and a grey beanie with a bandana to match. On her back rests a backpack that is just as inconspicuous as the rest of her perfectly forgettable outfit – no-one would give her a second look passing her on the street. What caught Sara's attention were the two large duffel bags that rest at her feet, and the couple of long cases she's using to hold herself up.

"You didn't exactly give me any specifics over the phone," she concedes. " _I don't know how long it will take, but you will be back in a couple of days tops_  is vague even for you."

Sara cackles at that and Ava clears her throat expectedly into the silence that follows.

"Oh, right," Sara catches up. " This is Ava Sharpe, Director of the Time Bureau and…well and this is…" she looks at the newcomer who returns her gaze with an amused expression. "Grey. This is Grey," she finishes resolutely.

"Grey," the woman nods solemnly towards Ava in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Ava of the Time Bureau."

Instead of returning the greeting, Ava turns to Sara resolutely. "And what is  _Grey_  doing here?"

"Listening in on conversations about herself, apparently. Do you want some privacy? I would actually love to drop this shit off someplace that isn't the cargo bay."

"Right," Sara responds right away, averting her gaze from Ava momentarily, "Gideon will tell you which room is yours and show you to the library and the gym. We'll be on the bridge. The others should be getting back soon; then we're set to leave."

"Hello Ms Grey," the disembodied voice of the ship's AI announces. "Welcome aboard the Waverider. Just follow this corridor to your left for now please." Ava's lips curl up slightly in anticipation of the woman's confused reaction, but her hopes fall short as she only inclines her head slightly in greeting, her right hand on her chest.

"Thank you, Gideon," she smiles, unperturbed, "and please, just call me Grey, if it's all the same."

"Certainly, Ms— Grey. Just Grey."

Their voices echo through the corridor as she walks off towards the sleeping quarters and Sara takes off swiftly in the opposite direction.

"You want to explain to me why you brought a civilian to a time ship?!" Ava stretches her steps to catch up with her. "I mean Constantine I can get over, because he already knew and he's a whole different sort of weird and I can see how he can be useful, but this...she's a complete civilian. They are not supposed to know about time travel, and for good reasons. Who is she, even?"

They arrive to the bridge and Sara finally turns around to face her.

"She's not a civilian," she says. "She's an…old friend. Back from the days. And I brought her on because she's sort of free and we need her. Like a consultant. For a while only, a couple of months tops. She'll be busy soon, anyway."

"When you say back from the days do you mean—"

"Just trust me on this one, please," Sara interrupts her somewhat distractedly before she can even think to finish. "Our situation with Nate and everything else is complicated at the moment, and we need someone on board who knows at least something about history. And I need someone I trust who can keep an eye on the new girl. Someone who isn't Rory or Zari. Or any of us, because the whole thing is honestly more unsettling than I thought."

"Well I could—" Ava begins again, only to meet the same end.

"You have other duties, too," Sara's voice is resolute, almost dismissive. "Joining us on missions every now and then is fun, and it's _great_ to have you there, but I can't force you to be here all the time. And the shape-shifter needs a 'round the clock supervision."

"So she's your what, warden for hire? Why don't you just send the shape-shifter back to hell, she sounds like she's more trouble than she's worth."

"We have talked about this. She's our inside man. Her knowledge is very valuable for dealing with all this magic crap," she throws her hands around to illustrate.

Before Ava can come up with a counter-argument, Mick's voice interrupts them, carrying the familiar edge that is hot with approaching anger, but somewhat reserved, too. They have all returned back.

"Boss. There's someone in my chair."

It is somewhat strange, too, that he would take the issue to Sara instead of just dealing with it himself, Ava thinks. The whole team is gathered on the bridge, their attention unanimously turned to the kitchen. Or rather to the person  _in_  the kitchen, a book in her hands and balancing the chair on its back legs easily, her own legs propped up on the kitchen table, creating a perfect rest beam for the cheetah stretched over them comfortably.

The cheetah lifts his head to look at them and Ava's mind backreels, catching up with her eyes.

"What is  _that_ ," she breaks the silence while backing away quickly, her voice probably more high-pitched than she'd like. Granted, the last time she encountered a feline on this ship was hardly anything but pleasant.

"What is  _what_?" A male voice questions as Grey looks around in confusion, settling her feet on the ground in a movement that effectively albeit gently grounds the big cat.

"Blimey," Constantine offers, his voice sounding almost impressed. "And who are you?"

"New team member," Sara steps in authoritatively. "This is Grey and Fiss," she motions to the woman and her feline companion respectively, "and this is John Constantine, Ray Palmer, Zari Tomaze, Mick Rory and you already know Ava. We also have a shape-shifter wandering the ship."

"A defunct shape-shifter," Zari adds, as Ray steps forward with an outstretched hand and a wide smile.

"Doctor Ray Palmer, nice to meet you."

"Pleasure," Grey smiles thinly and nods in return, watching his hand warily for a moment before shifting her attention to the others, finally settling on Sara. "So, what's the plan? We good to take off?"

* * *

Having successfully made it to the temporal zone, the bridge clears out slowly as everyone goes about their business, leaving Ava alone on the bridge with the unlikely duo of the cheetah and Constatine, who is watching the new addition with great interest.

"So what are you supposed to be? I think I saw likes of you once, but not here," Constantine speaks, clearly addressing the cat. Ava takes a breath to berate him, but lets it out in shock when the cheetah responds smartly.

"I am a dæmon. There is a universe where everyone is like this. You also have dæmons, but inside you. There are a few people in this universe like us, but not many."

"I know a thing or two about demons," John utters as Ava scoffs.

"D-æ-mon," Fiss pronounces with more aptitude than his feline physiognomy should allow him to. "Not a demon. Think of it as…a spirit to your soul and mind. Nothing added, just...differently realised."

Constantine nods in slow comprehension and heads off. "Will be seeing you around then, lad," he throws over his shoulder as he exits the bridge. Silence follows his departure until the spotted cat speaks again.

"You don't like us."

Ava takes her eyes off the console she has been scrutinising for no other reason but as a distraction and sets them on the cheetah who is strolling around the bridge, studying the equipment with what must be apt interest.

"I don't know you," she retaliates defensively. "You shouldn't be here. It's against every regulation of the organisation I head. You don't _need_ to be here."

Talking to a cheetah is no different than talking to an invisible AI, in most parts, probably, but an AI doesn't stare back. Cheetahs do, and this one is fixing her with an unsettling glare of his light golden orbs.

"You are allowing your personal sentiments to affect your judgement and situation assessment," he says finally in a voice that doesn't quite match his words. "Sometimes that is okay, but most of the times it's just pathetic and potentially damaging and dangerous."

Ava looks taken aback, firing her response out without thinking.

"I trust Sara completely."

He gives an impression of a smirk and, having finished his round of the bridge, takes his leave.

"Okay," he says en lieu of a good-bye.

* * *

Somewhere else on the ship, a rather different conversation is taking place, both women resting comfortably in the parlour's chairs.

"A cheetah, really?" Sara asks with an air of bemused incredulity.

"Wanted to get a reaction," Grey replies with a cheeky spark in her eyes. "Besides, it's comfortable for him," she adds, slightly more serious, as she leans back in the chair. "It's not like he gets to run free most of the time. We figured it'd get less judgment and questions here, given everything. Not many places left where we can just...be, out in the open, like this."

"I am sorry about your father," Sara say carefully; it's customary after all.

Grey doesn't move.

"Are you?"

 _Fair enough_ , Sara thinks.

"I don't think I am," Grey continues, mixing thoughtfull and dismissive on her tongue expertly. "I haven't really dwelled on it that much since I found out. Some of the consequences of his death are what I might be inclined to be sorry about but then again...not really my place."

And it really  _isn't_  her place, Sara thinks. It  _is_  hers, would be, should be,  _was_ , at the very least, much more than the woman's sitting across from her, in a very different way, in a different future formed by a different past. But this ship is not place for thoughts like that and she realised that a long time ago.

Grey lets her mull it over and watches around the parlour in the meantime, taking in the details, stoping at a few objects with interest. From time to time, her eyes grow slightly distant and unfocused – Fiss is probably making his own rounds somewhere else on the ship.

"So, you're gonna tell me what am I doing here," she breaks the silence after a few minutes, her eyes turning to Sara. "A high-end warden? Resident historian? And most importantly of all  _Grey_? Really? That the best you could do?"

She smiles lightly and Sara laughs with her.

"Must have been the beanie," she admits with a light grin and a shrug. "She caught me off guard."

"And now I am stuck with a colour for a name," Grey scoffs indignantly, stretching.

"I am sure you can cope. But yeah, the shape-shifter got stuck as one of our former team-mates, so it's a little difficult to keep a clear head. Our resident historian is still getting over that very person, so he's grounded at the Time Bureau for the time being. Oh and we are now taking down magical beings that escaped hell after we broke out a demon a couple of months ago. In co-operation with the Bureau."

"Close co-operation, no doubt," she throws out lightly, her attention on the globe that sits in the far corner of the room.

Sara's breath catches and she pauses just long enough to have Grey avert her eyes from the antique sphere and meet hers.

"And the rest of the team?" she asks and Sara releases her breath silently.

"Ray has a suit that shrinks and enlarges," she leans forward slightly, elbows on her knees, "Zari can control air and Mick fire. Constantine is our magic expert, so is the shape-shifter, her name is Charlie, I guess. I assume you wanna learn the rest on your own."

"We will get there," Grey replies mildly, her eyes momentarily growing dark as she takes in a sharp breath of her own as she stands up. "So, who is Grey?"

"An old friend of mine," Sara adjusts her position slightly to follow her friend's movements. "You don't need to hold back, but you don't need to explain, either," she supplies evenly – maybe a little too evenly.

"You would prefer I didn't. At all."

It's not a question. It's an unimpressed statement that gives nothing away.

"For the time being, yes."

"So I will be the mysterious friend from Sara Lance's past," Grey extends her arms to the sides in a mocking gesture, but her eyes zero in on Sara. "Except I know very little of one Sara Lance. They will figure it out, eventually, you know. Why not— ah," she pauses in comprehension, lowering her hands. "The suit lady."

"You're a suit lady," Sara fires right back in an admittedly pathetic attempt at defence.

"I am Grey," the other woman smiles thinly, bitterly, and her eyes cloud over as if to support her statement, cutting the surfacing argument short. "And I am here to help."

With that she turns to leave, citing the need to unpack, settle in and inspect the gym.

"Nas," Sara's voice calls out silently as she crosses the threshold. The other woman turns in the door to look at her.

"Thank you. For coming here when I asked."

"I was long overdue for some fun," she shrugs with a smile before leaving.

Alone in the room, Sara pours herself a glass of scotch and settle in an armchair. She didn't really expect her to show up, if she's being perfectly honest with herself. Didn't really expect someone – least of all actually  _her_  – to be on the other side of the line when she called the number she got lifetimes ago, worlds away.  _In case things go south big way_ , her friend said back then with a smile Sara wasn't able to decipher.  _Or just, you know, in case_. 

The case was a gnawing feeling at Sara's chest, one she hasn't felt in ages, and an excellent excuse in the form of a shape-shifter and Nate's confession; and all it took was  _I need your help, it will be fun_ and  _it won't take long_. They set up a meeting point and she never really though twice about it. The woman who just left is not someone she's known to stick around for long. And yet she does, apparently.

Suddenly, another implication of her presence on the Waverider surfaces. She must be returned back as close to where we picked her up as possible – and ideally alive, Sara thinks. From the very little she know of her – rough assumptions rather than actual facts – she is not someone who can just go missing from the timeline. She must have known that, and she must have known whatever Sara was roping her into won't be a museum excursion. Yet she said yes.

* * *

   


 _Throw Thud Thud_  Bored.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Bored.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Bloody humans.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Bored.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Better than the cage.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Bored.  _Catch  
_ Better than that place.  
 _Throw Thud Thud_  Bored.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud_  Damn this.  _Thu–ck_

When Charlie slowly opens her eyes to inspect why the ball she's have been tossing against the wall suddenly decided to break the Newtonian pattern of returning into her hand, she realises it was not an exactly voluntary choice. Because the ball is stuck to the wall. With a knife.

"What do I call you?"

With a sharp turn that's gonna hurt later, the shape-shifter's eyes land on the presumed owner of the knife, leaning against the doorframe with an inquisitive look on her face. British accent, mischievous eyes that don't seem to have an established colour, holding the ship up like she owns it.  _About my age, maybe a little older. Maybe younger_ , Charlie thinks. She was not on the ship before, or at least nowhere visible. The fact that she aimed the knife at the ball rather than person throwing it probably signals non-murderous intentions.

Charlie bites the bullet and dives in with attitude.

"And you are?"

Unless the knife-wielder likes to play with her food of course.

"I'm new," she responds lightly, her tone levelled. "What do I call you?"

She looks like a wild cat, the sort that  _loves_  playing with her food.

"What's it to you?"

And here comes a light chuckle, her expression growing amused with each turn.

"I am naturally curious. What do I call you?"

Scanning the room quickly, there seems to be no-one else around to intervene.

"I'm a friend of Sara's," new face offers an explanation. "The short blonde. What do I call you?"

"You ruined my ball."

Charlie is not letting up yet, but the other woman does not seem too concerned, only shrugging indifferently.

"Didn't want to startle you," she notes. "What do I call you?"

"You have pretty limited vocabulary."

She smiles at that and procures a tennis ball from her pocket, throwing it at Charlie.

"Have fun staring at the wall."

And leaves.

Back to the routine, new words echoe in Charlie's mind.

 _Throw Thud Thud_  I'm new.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Have fun staring at the wall.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Better than the cage.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  What do I call you?  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud_  Have fun.  _Thud Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  Have fun.  _Catch  
_ _Throw Thud Thud_  What do I call you?  _Catch  
_ Have fun staring at the wall  
 _Throw Thud Thud Catch_

She gets up and walks over to the wall, after one failed attempt resolving to use her foot to remove the knife and the pierced ball off it. It left a considerable nick and that forces a smile on her lips.

The two balls in one hand and knife in the other, she exits the room.


	2. Teambuilding

"Your cat spilled my beer."

She moves the same way Sara does, Mick thinks as he watches her glide around her new room, only even lighter, swifter. There is a similar air around them, but where Sara went from light to questionable dark, this one feels like she went the other way around – from dark to highly questionable light.

Time to test her limits.

"Doubtful," she responds, not even turning around from where she's emptying the content of her duffel bag into one of the drawers. "And even if he did, why are you talking to me about it? Take it up with him."

"Cat's don't speak."

"Good thing he's not a cat then," she replies, throwing him a look over her shoulder. "You got a favourite animal?"

"I had a rat," Mick allows.

She turns fully and walks towards her backpack that is on the table in the middle of the room, along with three long cases, smirking.

"Neat. What did you call it?"

"If your cat spills my beer again, I will kill you. Both."

She didn't even move a muscle other than to smile in amusement. Rory knows fear when he see it, and there is no fear in her face, no fear in her eyes. Not even concern.

"I will be sure to tell him you don't appreciate your beer spilled by a cat. Maybe it'll be a rat next time."

She throws the backpack over her shoulder and grabs the cases.

"Can you show me to the armoury?"

"To the what?"

"Where you keep your weapons."

"I keep my weapon on me."

"Okay. Where Sara keeps her weapons."

"Don't know, probably the cargo bay."

"Walk with me, big guy."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're curious."

One zero for the girl. Walking with an appropriate amount of grunt, Mick doesn't even have to alter her course once; she heads comfortably directly for the cargo bay. Passing the bridge, her cheetah joins in, rubbing his body against her legs in greeting.

"What's in here?" someone asks as they're passing a closed door.

Mick looks around to locate the man who spoke – it's the same voice that sounded when they were all gathered on the bridge after getting back. Grey is looking at him with expectant eyes, and so is her cheetah.

"What?" he ask to gain some time.

"What's in there," the voice repeats and the cheetah walks towards the door. "Is it a bathroom because I really hope there's more than the one I found."

He's talking. Okay.

"It was a storage room. Sara made it into a gym. What did you say your name was?"

"You can call me Fiss," he cheetah replies. "Do you have a preference between Mr Rory and Mick?"

"Don't care. Just stay away from my stuff,  _Fiss_ , or I'll burn you."

"Noted." If cheetahs could smirk, it would look like this.

Meanwhile, the girl already opened the door to the gym and went inside, surveying the place and having a go at a few pieces of equipment Sara amassed over the time.

"It's not too bad," Fiss remarks as he walks in after her, looking around.

"It'll do," she murmurs. "No long-rage option though. What was this about one bathroom?"

"It sucks," Mick grunts in reply and she throws him an amused smirk before jumping up and landing forcefully on the training mats.

"I bet."

She jumps back up in a fluid motion and walks over to where she left her cases, opening one and pulling out a bamboo stick about six feet long. She twirls it around a couple of times to test the space and distances before depositing it on the stand by the wall. After that, she walks back, opening her backpack and pulling out a rolled-up blanket. Mick sidestep for a better view as she unrolls it; it's riddled with all sorts of throwing knives and stars. There could be at least fifty. She pulls out five knives and three stars thoughtfully, setting them on the side, and rolls the blanket up again, putting it back in the backpack. Before she's fully standing up, all five knives are lodged in a target on the other side of the room, the stars soon finding their place in the one next to it.

She stretches contently and walks over to collect them, depositing them carefully where Sara's are next to the stick stand.

"Next stop cargo bay, Mr Rory," she announces. "Or are you done with me?"

She's smirking again and Mick realises he's been made for sure now. But she's right, he's seem what he wanted to see. She _showed_ him what he wanted to see, and that stings more than it should.

"Have fun," he tells her and turns to leave the two of them alone.

* * *

"Gideon, where is Grey?" Sara asks the AI.

"In the gym, Captain. With Mr Rory and her companion," the Irish voice replies evenly and Sara hums in thanks, heading that way. By the time she reaches the gym, Mick is gone and Na— _Grey_  is comfortably stretching on the floor, already having changed from the clothes she came in. Her short deep-honey-coloured hair is twisted in that double fishtail braid Sara knows all too well and Fiss is perched on the long weapons' stand that is sporting a new bō staff that brings all sorts of memories in the blonde's mind.

"Wanna spar?"

The voice came unexpected yet unsurprising – Sara knows she's good at sneaking, but few people are  _that_  good.

"For old time's sake?" she decides to humour her friend.

Grey laughs as she rises from her place on the mats.

"For old time's embarrassment, you mean," she jokes. "Let's see what you've learnt since. Host's choice."

"Bō," Sara decides and quickly throws one across the room, not allowing her new opponent any time before striking from the top. Sparring with someone as good as she is is something she missed more dearly than she'd allow herself to admit, and she feels the blood in her veins dancing gleefully as she's met blow for a blow, almost teasingly.

* * *

"So she didn't shake your hand, you don't have to cry about it." Ray is clearly shaken by the attitude of the newest addition to the crew and Zari is by equal part impressed and unamused. "I guess it's good to have someone on board who is impartial and immune to the whole Amaya-not-Amaya thing."

"I am just saying," he persists firmly, "maybe we should give another go to some team-building."

"Sure. Because it went so brilliantly the last time. You had to bribe Mick and you dropped him because you died after little you adopted a tiny Dominator."

He obviously has no response to that, so he changes the topic slightly.

"Sara didn't even tell us  _who_  she is. I mean, what do we know about her?"

"What do we ever know about anyone when they come aboard at first?"

"But this is different. Sara knows her from before, like John. She could have introduced her."

"She did, maybe you remember. You were there, she's the one who didn't shake your hand."

He looks sullen for a while but then his face lights up in a way Zari's long learnt to associate with an incoming catastrophe.

"Gideon, can you call everyone to the bridge please?"

"Oh no."

"Come on Z, it's gonna be fun." Ray is a man on a mission now and he's not to be derailed. "Just a little getting-to-know each other exercise."

And with that, he's out the door.

Zari sighs heavily before following. Some days 2046 doesn't seem so bad.

"I think you might want to go to the gym instead," Gideon suggests as they're walking towards the bridge.

"What? Why?" Ray asks, puzzled.

By that time, they have entered the corridor leading to the gym and the sound of wood on wood blows is audiable, accompanied by an occasional grunt or thud.

Charlie and Rory are already standing by the door, watching the duelling pair intently.

Ray lets out a surprised sound that Zari almost echoes – they have all seen Sara fight, with her equals like Savage, Darkh or Merlyn, but she managed to get an upper hand with all of them eventually. That does not seem to be the case here. Her current opponent is seemingly on a defensive, but as Sara speeds up the pace, she meets her comfortably, only slightly adjusting the rhythm, like this is a warm-up for her. By the time Sara's offensive is so fast it's almost impossible to follow, Constantine joins the peanut gallery and whistles lowly in appreciation, getting Sara's attention for a fraction of a second. Which is more than enough to land her on her ass, apparently.

"Focus," Grey barks out sharply, giving her room to get back up. "Mind your feet, don't stand still. If you want to divert your attention–" "–divert your opponent's first and be at least three steps ahead. Yeah, I remember," Sara cuts her off bitterly.

"Clearly you don't," the other woman retorts reproachfully and motions to continue.

This time Sara starts off just as fast as she was moving before getting knocked off her feet, her movements a blur of muscle and wood, and yet ever time she strikes, she is always met with air or her opponent's bamboo stick.

"Your patterns are predictable," she informs Sara conversationally. "You're never gonna get through with that. You are open –" she moves to offensive, easily pushing Sara back, "– here –" blow to the right side of the ribs "– and here –" blow to the left hand, causing Sara to adjust her grip "– which throws you off –" she throws her stick at Sara, who hits it straight in the air, forcing it to fly where Grey is standing –  _was_  standing, now she's on the floor, sweeping Sara's feet from under her again with a kick "– and lands you on your ass –" Grey is up again, somehow having gotten hold of her bō, now twirling it in a flourished movement and stopping it just a hair shy from Sara's head "– or worse," she finishes thoughtfully, taking a step back. "That left-handed fake low swipe was nice though. That new?"

"The Edo period," Sara grunts as she's slowly collecting herself from the floor. "You would have liked it there." With that, she turns to face her opponent and lowers in what seems to be a customary bow.

"Here's your team-building," Zari teases Ray lowly as he gimaces.

"Your left side is still slow," a voice states with well-hidden concern.

"Who's?" Sara inquires, turning her attention to the falcon sitting on one of the stands by the walls.

"Mine," Grey retorts, straightening up after returning Sara's bow, "was it just the left side? I felt the shoulder lag a couple of times, but it went from the muscles, I think, not from the bones."

"I mostly noticed the knee," the falcon flies off and turns into a cheetah in landing. "But the arm as well. The upper part is definitely muscles, I think, the knee I am not so sure of. Rest seemed to be within expectable norm, but you still keep your weight off your left foot slightly and it slows you down in counter-clockwise turns. You even did the last one against the flow, because you didn't have time to change the momentum to where it was supposed to be."

"I did, didn't I," she retorts as if something suddenly makes sense. "I was wondering what went wrong there."

"How recent?" Sara asks.

"Five weeks. Bones are all healed, but still a little weakened, and the muscles are work in progress," Gray answers lightly.

"Gideon could have a look at it and see if there's anything to be done," Sara offers.

"Thanks, I'll consider it."

"Are we going to ignore the fact that it was a cat and then a bird and then a cat again and it talks?" Zari asks slightly incredulously. "Okay." On a second thought, they've probably seen weirder.

" _It_  has a name, thank you very much," the cheetah turns to her indignantly. "And we could definitely use a second opinion on the state of the bones," he remarks bitingly in reaction to Sara's offer. "They don't  _feel_  very healed."

"Stop being a baby about it," the taller woman dismisses his words, "they're fine."

"She almost bit the doctor's head off when he said eight weeks of rest with minimal therapy. When he suggested a wheelchair, I thought he was gonna be the one leaving in it," Fiss utters, part frustrated and part amused, to Sara, who laughs.

"I should have beaten that tosser with the crutches he gave me. Or maybe I should have taken the wheelchair and run him over," the subject of their conversation mutters menacingly. "Then he could have logged himself in as the cripple he tried making out of me."

"Or maybe you shouldn't have tried stopping that car by jumping at it in the first place," Zari hears him murmur softly as he passes her.

Everyone disperses after that, the majority heading for dinner, Grey for the shower, calling dibs on the grounds of her victory and a long day and the unsaid but pronounced fact that she looks like she'd probably beat anyone who'd try to stop her to a pulp.

Much later, after hours spent staring at the computer screen, Zari gives up and has to ask.

"Gideon, what do you have on Grey?"

"Our newest crew member? Nothing I'm afraid, Ms Tomaze."

"What do you mean  _nothing_ , can't you try like running a facial recognition or something? Anything?"

There is a tiny pause as Gideon is trying her  _something anything._

"Still negative, Ms Tomaze."

Well what do you know, Zari thinks as she moves to get to bed.


	3. Food for Thought

Waking up in a temporal zone is always strange, despite Gideon maintaining 24h schedule dutifully. Besides, sleeping patterns are a far cry from sleeping needs and wants, so communal breakfasts are much less common than dinners.

Much in that spirit, Zari seems to be the third one up today as she walks into the kitchen area – Ray is happily busying himself with last night's leftover dishes while humming a tune she doesn't recognise and Sara is sitting at the table, bleary-eyed, poking at her porridge.

"It would just, you know, be nice to know a little more about her," Ray breaks his dish serenade to wish Zari a good morning and return to the conversation he must been having previously. "If she is to stay—"

"—she isn't, Ray," Sara interrupts him impatiently, nodding at Zari in greeting. "And you are more than free to ask her whatever you want. I am sure she will be thrilled to answer."

"Like why she's practically a ghost and there's no trace of her anywhere?" Zari offers her newly-gained info on the suspected subject of their conversation; or lack thereof.

"She's not a ghost," Sara says exasperatedly. "Pass the apple Z, please."

"Speaking of ghosts," Ray decides to change the topic – clearly the Captain has made her mind about it. "Do you think we'll come across some of these, as well?"

Sara assures him that she's had enough ghosts to last a lifetime or three and Gideon can offer nothing on the subject of their immediate future endeavours, as nothing has set off the boy's magic-o-meter yet.

Instead, Charlie saunters into the kitchen, effectively ignoring anyone as she stops in front of the food dispenser, clearly trying to figure it out. After a few moments of silence interrupted only by clinking from the sink and beeps of failed attempts, she retrieves her now full plate and goes to sit on the stairs to the Captain's office, digging in.

Before anyone – most likely Ray – can attempt to make conversation, Fiss stalks in, looking around. Ray, ever the kind soul, turns to him.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Nothing for me, thank you," the cheetah replies in kind, "But what have you got?"

"Aaanything," Zari drawls out contently, still overjoyed with that particular feature of the Waverider. "Whatever you can think of, Gideon can probably make it."

"Synthesise?" He asks, turning between her, Ray and Sara. "

"Yes," Ray takes it up, "Pure synthetics. The taste is completely authentic, too, although there have been some disputes regarding pecan pies."

"How do you supplement the nutritional value?"

"Excuse me?" Ray looks slightly thrown off balance.

"If it's completely synthesised from…whatever the system is using, how does it supplement the nutrients? Taste and smell you can artificially recreate without much drawback, but artificial vitamins can potentially be harmful and I can imagine the  _potential_  part goes up the chimney if you're digesting them on a regular basis, let alone if they're the  _only_  vitamins you're digesting," Fiss explained thoughtfully. "Eating solely synthetic nutrients is bound to have some side-effects. Just look at what synthetic carbohydrates are doing to the western society. And most synthetic vitamins aren't as efficient – to put it nicely – as natural vitamins. You can't supplement that."

"Ah. Well, I guess someone must have figured it out in the future," Ray answered hesitantly, either thrown off by having a nutrition-related conversation with a cheetah who clearly knows multi-syllable words, or by not having a satisfactory answer.

Fiss does not respond to that at first, opting to slide out of the way of the morning version of Mick, who is no doubt in pursuit of his liquid bread for breakfast.

"I guess that will be the answer for a lot of things," he mutters, watching Mick retrieve a beer and a bacon sandwich. "On that note," he turns to Sara, "we've been meaning to talk to you about something. No visits to the future for us, nothing past the point you picked us up at, no matter how close or far. If there's a problem in the future, we ain't it."

"Why," Zari asks, "some of your future is my past. And a lot of your future is Gideon's past."

"Exactly," he nods, as does Sara.

"Sure, no problem. Anything else?"

"Nothing major," he stretches his back, "not from me, anyway. But get some answers ready for the food thing, there's no way she'll just eat your fake food silently."

"Where is she, anyway?" Charlie's sudden question startles everyone, as much as her interest surprises them.

"Trying to meditate," Fiss informs her, "I got bored and gave up. It's no fun here."

"Oh right," Sara seems to have caught up on something. "Sorry about that."

"Nah, it's all good," he reassures her.

"Speak for yourself you skunk," a disgruntled voice sounds from the bridge and Grey enters the kitchen in loose trousers and a dark hoodie. "Wouldn't hurt you if you at least tried."

"If you let us sleep more than three hours last night, maybe I'd consider humouring you," he fires back as she passes him on her way to the counter, gently knocking him out of her way with her knee.

"Gideon, can you get me some hot water, please?"  
Ray straightens up slightly at her request, clearly uneasy about the prevalent lack of answers about nutrients and whatnot, but as Gideon delivers, Grey merely mutters her gratitude and pulls out a tin container out of her hoodie pocket, dropping some of its content into a smaller empty cup, pouring some of the hot water over it. A smell that is at the same time fresh and heavy fills the room and Sara's eyes widen in surprise.

"Where did you get that?"

"Same place as always. Want some?"

Quick as a lightning, Sara grabs the first empty cup she can get her hands on and slides it across the table to the other woman, who simply smiles at her enthusiasm.

After a few moments, she passes Sara's cup to her and, rising her own to take a sip, enquires about the plans for the day.

"We mostly just wait around for something to pop up," Ray answers, "it usually doesn't take long."

"Sounds like a blast," she rebuts, clearly unimpressed. "Well, I'll be in the library.

* * *

Still mildly intriqued by yesterday's events, Charlie decides to beat her there, so by the time the newcomer is walking in, she's already comfortably sprawled in an armchair, tossing the ball from yesterday up and up again.

Grey nods at her in recognition but makes no motion to engage in a conversation, settling on the floor with a book instead, her tea next to her.

"The Captain is calling everyone to the bridge," a disembodied voice informs them before Charlie can think of anything to say.

"Looks like the party's over," Grey pushes herself up and winks at her silent companion before walking out to join the others at the bridge.

Charlie waits for a few moments before getting up and following. She's the last one to arrive, it seems, as everyone is already gathered around the central console, listening to whatever the AI is saying.

"I have detected some magical activity at the camp-site before the Battle of Crécy," Gideon informs her audience, "most importantly, it seems to have resulted in king Edward III obtaining large amounts of gold."

"Why do we care about some king getting a pot of gold," Mick grunts, "it's what kings do. They have money."

"We care about the magical creature that helped him get it," Sara responds disapprovingly. "He can keep his money if he wants for all I care."

"He can't," Grey opposes and all eyes turn to her. Mick murmurs his _damn right he can't_ under his breath but she pays him no mind. "What kings also do is  _not_  having money. He must be broke, otherwise a whole part of history is gonna gently implode. He borrowed a lot of money from a couple of Florentine banks and when he wasn't able to pay back, they eventually went bankrupt. If he can pay them back, they will likely stay in business."

"And we care about some..." Zari pauses to check the holograms, "...fourteenth century Italian banks why?"

"Because their bankruptcy allowed the rise of the house of Medici," Fiss speaks up, turning into a lion briefly, which earns a chuckle from Grey. "And they later went to practically single-handedly fund the Italian Renaissance – both financially and in manpower. Or...womanpower, in some cases. Without them, well let's say that Renaissance wouldn't be the same, and Renaissance was important. He can't keep the money."

"I like their natesplaining better than Nate's," Zari concedes.

"Okay, so we need to send whatever there is back to hell, along with its trinkets and shinies," Sara proclaims. "Any ideas of what could we be looking for?"

"Leprechauns," John offers, allowing Charlie to stay silent.

"Gideon, has the death count changed?" Grey goes on to probe, for some reason. "For either side? Any differences in causalities?"

"Only slightly. John of Luxembourg never made it to the battle," Gideon answers, "so he didn't die there, nor did the Luxembourgian part of his company. The accounts from that period claim that he sent his fellow countrymen home and left the camp, alone, before the battle."

"And the Bohemian part? And his son?"

"Most of the Bohemian noblemen decided to follow the heir and fell to the last man, including king Charles."

"Shit," Grey whistles through her teeth. "We'll have to move fast. This means we have two main objectives, with two sub-objectives – we must locate that magical twat—"

"Leprechaun," Constantine interjects and Grey makes a face.

"—whatever, and then we must make sure the English still win and Eddie winds up broke, and that John the Blind stays and bloody dies and his son doesn't and goes on to become Charles IV. So it's...up to the Captain to make the calls," she finishes softly, taking a step back and motioning towards Sara with slightly apologetic expression.

"Right. Gideon, set a course for the fourteenth century battlefield," Sara confirms. "Constantine, we'll do reconnaissance first, so you and Charlie stay here. We'll locate the fugitive first, that's when John comes in and sends it back. The rest of us will stay and deal with the rest."

* * *

"Sir Raymond of the Palms is called to service once again," Ray announces happily, raising his sword, his ATOM suit incorporated with metal armour.

"Do I even want to ask," Zari wonders mildly from where she's putting on her tunic.

"You really don't. Let's just say Merlin was real and history is a sexist bitch," Sara informs her.

"Say what you want, Lancelot." Ray's spirit is really hard to break. "It feels good to be back."

"I will  _not_  be a bloody horse, get that ridiculous idea out of your head," Fiss' hiss comes from around the corner, firm in his insistence.

"Come on Fissy, it'll be fun. What else would you be? There wasn't exactly room for pets, there were no falconers at Crécy, a destrier makes  _so_  much sense."

"You're not dressed like a knight," Mick comments as the bickering duo enters his field of vision.

She really isn't, instead she's sporting a dark brown-greenish...something...definitely trousers, light-looking canvas shoes, something that looks vaguely like a tunic, a jacket with a hood and a bandana around her neck.

"Not a destrier then, just a regular horse. Those heavy giants aren't really our style anyway. And shady people are timeless," she turns to him. "No one just  _walks_  around like  _that_ ," she motions towards Ray with an air of incredulity "not even in a camp before the battle.  _Especially_  not then. You are more iron-clad than an archbishop's treasure chest."

"I will have you know," Ray starts haughtily, "that I was knighted by lady Guinevere herself. I am somewhat of an expert in knights."

"Enjoy dying an expert death," she winks at him.

"Alright," Sara decides to step in, "we are here. Ray and Mick, you're with me on camp England, Grey and Zari will go together to the French camp. We are looking for a leprechaun, or multiple. According to Constantine, they are little and green. Report any progress, stay on comms, don't engage, don't screw anything up."


	4. Put on Your Colours

The air is dry and hot and you fucking hate it.

It only reminds you of all the other times when the air was hot and dry and you came here for the sole purpose of  _not_  thinking about any of that.

When you saw the phone light up with an incoming call, you waited for six rings before picking up, mentally going through the short list of people who had this number.

When you heard Sara's voice, it was difficult not to admit you felt relieved. When she told you why she called, you laughed, then you were silent for a long while and then you laughed some more.

You and Fiss debated over all the potential pros and cons assiduously before eventually deciding to go.

You made two calls before leaving, citing a  _family emergency_  in both.

You knew they wanted to ask, thought of calling you out on your audicious bullshit, but you also knew they wouldn't. They are scared to ask you things these days. You feel the side-glances, the subtle change in attitude, the circumspection. You felt their own relief through the telephone when you said you were taking some time off.

You heard their "Report when you're back," and "Love you, call when you can," and knew you made the right decision.

Neither of them questioned when  _exactly_  would the when be.

Now the anno domini is 1346 and you wonder whether this is what it feels like, actively watching  _whens_  becoming  _ifs._  Silently, you've always only ever had the latter.

"Focus," Fiss snaps you to attention, "you have incoming."

Your eyes slide to Zari and you wave at her, motioning in the direction of the three soldiers who are making their way towards you, temporarily unaware of your presence.

You can feel Fiss soaring up above the treetops, partly to survey the area, partly for the joy of flight, and the way he momentarily loses himself in the pure glee distracts you for a second, too.

"Who are you?"  _Focus,_ you think.

"We are with the company of the king of Bohemia, Jean." They spoke in French and you reply in kind, throwing in some Latin for a good measure in hopes of sounding less out of place and time. "We got separated on our way here. Perhaps you could direct us to their tents? We carry important information." You allow them a moment to mull over what you said, hoping they'd either be dull enough to not question you or sharp enough to catch the hidden meaning; and not something in between.

"Over there," one of them finally breaks the silence, pointing northwards, "just follow the river, they are right behind the front lines, to the side."

You do as they say and reach the camp-site with familiar crests shortly. Expertly slipping into the busyness of the site, you hope Zari will follow your lead – you hate,  _hate_  not having a plan just as much as you love improvising, but planning is clearly not a crucial part of the workings of the Waverider's crew. Swanning around, you scan all the possible places a little green man could be hiding in, trying to figure out the nagging feeling at the back of your mind that's been sitting there since Gideon briefed you and Constantine concluded leprechauns. You pass a number of tents, noticing Zari do the same on your left, carelessly knocking over some buckets. There's something that doesn't quite sit.

"How are you doing, guys," Sara's voice comes over the comms, "we made it to the English camp and so far no luck. "

"We are on the other side," you hear Zari respond, "and I guess the same. That little bastard could be literally  _anywhere_. Maybe you should look for the pots of gold instead."

You can almost  _feel_  the click your mind just made, and you definitely feel the drop Fiss made, realizing the same you just did.  _Pots of gold._

Quickly, you wave at Zari to get her attention, seguing behind the nearest tent. The sounds coming out of it give you some reassurance that its inhabitants will be too busy to hear your whispering.

"Sara," you urgently shush into the comm, motioning for Zari to listen too as she gives you a disgusted look, moving as far away from the tent as you allow her. "It's not a leprechaun _. Offering us wishes and wonders and eternities and charm and cleverness and true brave hearts and pots of gold –_  it's not a leprechaun."

"What the hell is she talking about," you hear Rory murmur on his comm.

"It's a jinni."

"A genie? Why would you think that," Constantine asks sceptically from the Waverider.

"Ask Gideon what else changed with John of Luxembourg aside from the fact that he fled the battle," your eyes close briefly as the pieces fall in place, "she referred to him as  _John of Luxembourg,_  but he was known as  _John the Blind._  This battle was his suicide mission; his knightly way of ending is life and getting some parting glory. And he sent half of his men to escort his son out of the battlefield before riding out. He wouldn't have left unless his incentives changed. And leprechauns don't grant wishes, not like these. Genies do."

Silence follows your words and you wait, faintly hearing Gideon confirm your theory of John's miraculous recovery of sight.

"What do we know of escaped genies, Charlie," Sara asks.

"There was one," the resident former-hell-resident replies carefully. "He was bound to a ring. Nice chap and all, the ring was ugly though. He hated being a genie, hated the ring."

"What did it look like? We can assume, I think, that one of the kings has it right now, I can just fly in and sweep it," Ray suggests hopefully.

"Ugh, golden with a black stone, I think," Charlie doesn't sound too sure.

"It will be here," you decide, "most likely. John would have found it first, he needs it first, Gideon said he fled the battle before it begun. Edward likely didn't have it until later, else he'd have used it to help him in the battle, which would have altered the causalities. I think we can quite safely assume that it's here, now, or will be soon." There is a light flicker of wariness in Fiss' thoughts and you look around quickly, sensing your time's running out. "We'll—"

Too late. Two men spotted you and Zari and are marching your way steadily, full of suspicion. Quickly scanning their colours, you take a leap of faith and slip into a language that tastes bittersweet on your tongue.

"Lord of Rosenberg," you address the younger one, "praise to God. We must immediately speak with king John. We bring pressing news of queen Beatrice."

He surveys you carefully, and you curse the glaring holes in your statement, hoping he would overlook them, hoping that by using his mother tongue you at least managed to dodge the suspicion of being enemy spies.

"Who do you answer to," he asks in stead of anything else.

"We are with the company of king Charles," you venture, "we were left behind with the court of queen Blanka, but she sent us after you when the messenger came."  _Stall_ , you think and Fiss echoes your thoughts, albeit with more bite. "We've been chasing you since Rhein."

"And what news do you bring?" Of course it couldn't be  _easy_ , you think bitterly.

"News for the ears of king John," you are firm in your answer and hope it will suffice. "Your father Petr advised us to seek you out if we are denied access to the king," you carry on, throat suddenly tight when you think of all the texts you were poring over at the history section of your university libraries, in hopes of maintaining your command of the language and learning more about the history of the people who speak it. Pushing the feeling, you deal your trump card, knowing you are speaking with a dead man. "He wanted you to know your mother has been recovering well."

Something flickers behind his eyes and you know you've won.

"Come this way. How pressing is your message? The king has left not long ago, you can talk to his son, who is in charge until king John returns from his meeting with king Philip. Or you can rest with my men, have something to drink and eat before king John returns."

Your business in not with Charles and the added time might allow Ray and the rest to relocate here, so you take the second option, following the two men further into the camp.

Zari catches your sleeve and you quickly shake your head – the men will leave you soon and then you can talk.

* * *

Sara, Mick and Ray made it to you and Ray is currently on a look-out in king John's tent, awaiting his return. Mick established a quick and silent bond over a few pieces of game Rosenberg's men were preparing over the fire and, with Zari and Fiss on watch for intruders, you sat Sara down to concoct something at least resembling a plan.

"You did your homework," she comments lightly as you lay it out and you hope the smile you give her reaches your eyes. "Okay. Constantine is on his way over, he'll stay in the woods and we will take the ring to him once we have it," she says. "If he doesn't have it yet, Ray will stick to him until he does have it, take it and bring it to Constantine. See, a plan. Happy now?"

You are not, but before you can put it in words, Zari walks into a passing soldier and he curses at her loudly, getting your attention. Planning time is over.

"King John has returned," your previous guide has returned to collect you and is now eyeing Sara suspiciously. "I will take you to him so that you can deliver your message."

You hop up quickly, thanking him and taking off in his tow.

In front of the royal tent, you bump into the first obstacle in the form of the king's begrudged son.

"My father is not accepting visitors, Sir Jindřich," he speaks to your guide bitterly. "I have just tried."

"This boy brings news of queen Beatrix," the young Rosenberg tries, speaking in German and louder than necessary – and you love him for it – enough even to not draw attention to his understandable and convenient mistake by bristling.

Charles' face twists almost imperceptibly, but the plan worked and before he can get out a word of protest, a voice from the tent demands for the messenger – and only the messenger – to enter.

"He already has the ring," you hear Ray's voice in your ear, "and he can already see. What do we do?"

 _Improvise,_  you think and murmur under your breath, hoping the comms will catch it. "Everyone stand down, we don't need a scene."

* * *

The king of Bohemia and count of Luxembourg is seated in a chair in his tent, a barely-covered air of wonder adorning his face. As you enter, he seems to check himself and his face goes impressively blank. For someone who spent years pretending he can see, he fakes being blind pretty well.

"What news bring you, boy," he asks in French and you briefly wonder how no one questioned your ability to deliver your message.

"Queen Blanche sent me," you reply curtly from where you're kneeling. "She has received news from queen Beatrice shortly after king Charles left Prague. She thought it best you heard them from her."

"And what  _are_  those news," his voice now has an edge of impatience and you know you must thread lightly to achieve your goal. Taking a massive gamble, you look around obviously.

"Can I speak freely, my liege?"

His eyes narrow and he nods carefully.

"Lady Beatrice is with a child, sir."

Score. His face goes as pale as a sheet and he closes his eyes, his hand shooting up to the bridge of his nose. Then you see his body tense in a familiar way and quickly murmur into the comm. "Ray, stay put." Then, taking a deep breath, you check yourself and stiffen your muscles in anticipation of impact.

Sure enough, two beats later strong arms are picking you up by the front of your jacket and smashing you into the central pole of the tent. You silently hope it'll hold.

It does, for now.

"How dare you speak those words," he hisses into your face.

You grab his forearms to take some weight off your neck and whisper your answer in character. "I am only repeating the words of queen Blanche, sir. I know not their meaning."

He drops you unceremoniously and takes a few steps back. You hear the splutter of voices over the comms and risk a short halting gesture, hoping Ray will catch it. He does and repeats the stand down order into the comms for the others, sounding mightily unhappy.

"Queen Blanche, is it? The perfect Bohemian queen of the perfect Bohemian king. Could this be their conspiracy?"

You wait patiently, knowing his rage is no longer directed at you. You need to stay put, however, to make sure this information doesn't push him in the opposite direction than you need.

For a long moment he stands in thought, clearly contemplating the best course of action. You are almost sure he forgot you were there. Not daring to move, you focus on Fiss' mind instead and he swiftly lands next to where Sara is impatiently waiting, turning into a mouse to hide in the grass.

"Careful, I'm here. She can't speak," you hear him explain to her and she turns her comm off. "She thinks he'll leave regardless, but we cannot do anything about that here, not without far-reaching repercussions. We will have to let him leave if he so decides and intercept him on the way, take the ring then, too. The rest will stay here and make sure Charles leaves the battle before being killed."

She sighs heavily, knowing fully well what that means.

"Alright. Tell her to get out of there, I'll tell Ray to stay with the king just to be sure. When he leaves, I will go after him and you and the rest will stay here and get his son out."

You close your eyes when you feel Fiss focus in a way you haven't in a long while and try matching his efforts. Soon enough, the black behind your eyelids fills with images of what he sees – Sara's face, weary and tired, with a dark expression of forlornness and resigned determination. Fiss exhales in exhaustion and you open your eyes, trying to focus on his meaning rather than on how much strain the action put on you.  _Maybe we should practice this more,_  you think gloomly and feel his disdain mirror yours.

But the message he was trying to send is clear; Sara is being the ever noble assassin and Fiss was seeking your permission to out-noble her. Down-noble her. He knows he has it.

"No," he says. "Ray wanted to see battle real bad. You and him and the rest stay here, we will take care of the rest."

"Sara, what do we do," you hear Ray over the comm and nudge Fiss mentally. She needs to make a decision fast.

"Ray, get out of the tent. Everyone, let's meet by where Constantine is," Sara comes back in and you feel Fiss taking off again.

After maybe fifteen minutes, the king finally shakes himself from his stupor.

"Go," he commands, "go and send Rosenberg in."

You go to do as he said and Fiss swishes through the grass to take your place on watch. After locating the young Rosenberg, you head to the Waverider, taking a detour through the English camp. Over the comms, you hear Sara briefing everyone on the new plan of protecting the younger king of Bohemia being the top priority, instructing Constantine to stay put and wait for someone to bring the ring. _King John will ride out and fall, and we must get to the body to remove the ring_ , she says, Fiss will watch him and whoever will be the closest will snatch it.

You must smile at her words. At her obvious affection for her team, her desire to shield them.

Having reached the Waverider, you head into your room to collect what you came here for.

"Got bored already?" Charlie's voice comes from the door and you throw her a smile. She's wild and mercurial and you adore that. She reminds you of people you know, people you knew, and you hope she'll stay around for a bit. Not to mention she's an absolute delight to mess with.

"Just forgot a toy," you reply with a smile, shouldering your quiver after placing in the few English arrows you confiscated during your short visit to the Welsh archers. "Will be right back."

Fiss is on the move, which means so is king John.

* * *

 _Caring is not a sign of weakness, failure to act is,_  words in voice long-gone are echoing through your mind.  _Learning who they are and what they leave behind is a courtesy you must afford them. Indifference and ignorance are insults of the highest order._

You take a deep breath and calm your mind.

Somewhere up this path, Johann, King of Bohemia and Count of Luxembourg, Arlon and Durbuy, son of Heinrich and Margaret, husband of Eliška and Beatrice, father to Margaret, Bonna, Karl, Jan Jindřich, Anna, Wenceslaw and Nicolas, gallops your way. The alien king, the Bohemians call him. The king of tournaments, the image of chivalry, the darling of the European courts. Married off at fourteen, into a strange, cold, foreign land.

Made it his life's mission to distance himself from it as often and as far as he could.

Now he's speeding away from a battle, a habitat he so happily sought all of his life. A battle he so readily and proudly trotted into, dropping everything, the moment king Philip, his son's brother-in-law, called for help.

You hear the hooves thud the forest floor against the distant sounds of the erupting battle.

Speeding away to see his wife of twelve years. She will be around twenty eight now, and will go on to marry an Eudes nobody, Lord of Grancey.

The man coming is someone who, without much exaggeration, helped to shape the image of the continent during his time.

Mostly for the better.

Yet his greatest legacy shall be his first-born son, soon to be crowned King of the Romans, Carolus IV.

With the last thought, you open your eyes and take a deep breath, releasing it and letting the arrow adorned with Welsh colours fly.

You hear the surprised yelp, the horse's stumble, the soft  _thump_  of the body that startles him into fast gallop, before he stops a few dozen meters away.

* * *

You managed to sneak through the woods and first line of warriors without much hindrance. Slapping the horse's behind hard, you watch the figure in the saddle stumble gently before he's knocked off by a spear from behind.

Sara shouts into the comms and there is Ray, picking at the fallen king's hands, taking off a large golden ring with a massive black stone, shrinking and supposedly taking off towards Constantine.

The battle rages and you watch in silent daze before catching yourself.

"King John has fallen! Save king Charles!" you yell into the turmoil of the battle, your eyes catching the red rose on silver background. The bearer of the shield spurs his horse forward at your shout, repeating your words in strong, booming voice before catching an attacker that went for the man who was originally on his right. You watch him slide off his horse slowly, but his message sounds loud and clear throughout the crowd, men adorned with familiar colours turning their steeds en masse and pushing the man under the ensign bearing the silver double-tailed lion out of the roar of the battle; the man who will become one of the greatest rulers of his time; the man who will be referred to as  _Father of the Homeland_ hundreds years from now; the man who would have been dead by now, were it not for the brave and noble son of the rose.

With fingers on your lips, you bow to the fallen before turning away and slipping out.

 _Show your respect by recognising the consequences of the actions you take,_ words sound and you wish you didn't know them.


	5. Quiet Before Storm

"All I'm saying is that from what I saw, your last mission went really well. You managed to capture the fugitive, you didn't break time, endanger the timeline, you didn't kill anyone," Ava tries again to lift Sara's spirits, which were quite inexplicably down when she arrived at the Waverider the previous evening, "and the new one seems to be settling in pretty easily." Admittedly, the last part could do with a little more enthusiasm, but baby steps, Ava thinks a little sourly.

"Which one," Sara frowns in reply, confused.

"Ms Grey." Baby steps are wobbly, two forward and three back is a fair progress. "I didn't think you'd let Charlie in the field yet."

"No, I didn't. Not until I see at least a little what she's capable of. So far she seems very proficient in emptying my liquor cabinet, raiding our clothes fabricator and loud singing. If you could call it that," she seems a little lost in thought. "Grey is planning something, I think, but she hasn't said anything yet. She'll probably want to sleep off her first mission."

"Legends are quite an experience first time around," Ava agrees with a small smile, thinking back at the first time she saw the team in the field.

"Yeah," Sara agrees half-heartedly. "Speaking of," her voice gaining volume, "is there someplace you'd like to see? Preferably…without any people. At all. And like in the mountains. But not the Himalayas."

Ava lets out a soft laugh. "Seems like you already have a place in mind," obviously she does, "these are some pretty specific criteria."

Shortly after that, people start slowly filtering into the kitchen to get breakfast, Ray swinging in first, more bounce in his step than is appropriate for this time of day.

"Good morning, Captain, Director," he smiles happily and heads to the food dispenser, getting a coffee and a toast. Raising the cup to his mouth, he momentarily freezes. "Ava," he starts carefully, "you wouldn't happen to know how  _exactly_  does the food synthesiser work, would you?"

"You are the one with three PhDs," the woman replies in slight confusion, "shouldn't you be telling me? And why the sudden interest?"

"He got owned by a kitty yesterday morning," a singsong voice comes, preceding its bearer by a couple of seconds, as Charlie appears.

"Well don't you look chipper for someone who drank all my whiskey," Sara comments sourly, still getting over the shock of discovering her favourite bottle empty.

"I think it's nice that he's interested," Ray interjects, "it's refreshing to have someone to discuss the workings of this ship with."

After Dr Stein's death, Ray probably lost his only science-buddy, Ava realises. Now the only person he gets to discuss his science with is Gideon, who isn't exactly a  _substantial_  companion in that matter. She's probably more of a doer.

"Aaaanyway," Sara drawls out, "why don't we celebrate yesterday's successful mission by a little retreat. I was thinking maybe the Alps, for half a day?"

"The Alps?" Mick doesn't disappoint. "What is that?"

"It's a place. I'm game. There's something I need to do anyway," Grey enters the kitchen and no one opposes the idea.

It is Sunday in 2017 Starling City, so Ava decides to join the Legends for their half-day retreat in the Austrian Alps. Upon landing on a sizeable clearing in the middle of nowhere, the Waverider cloaks up and Sara announces two-hour free time for everyone to do whatever they please. To Ava's slight disappointment, that apparently means a two-hour hike for the two of them.

"You should give her a chance," Sara utters some ten minutes in as they scale the mountain. "She likes to tease the hell out of people, but somehow she's usually right about a lot of things. And she's more useful than she maybe looks."

That earns her a deep sigh. "I am sorry. I guess I'm just slow to trust people. Especially with you."

"Ava Sharpe," she smirks, "green is not your colour. But it's kinda cute on you." She stops and leans over to peck her girlfriend on the lips. "But you don't have to worry about that. She's an old friend. I would trust her with my life any day."

Despite the admittedly breathtaking views (and even more breathtaking slopes), Sara is a little nervous to get back, so they end up returning with half an hour to spare. Zari is sitting in the middle of the clearing, playing with some leaves and twigs, watching them swirl in the miniature whirlwind she created using her totem. She seems to be acclimatising well to its new settings on her wrist. When questioned, she supplies that Rory holed himself inside, as did Charlie, and Ray ran off, chasing some insect. Constantine is still asleep and Grey and Fiss went off the opposite direction that Sara and Ava did, she finishes the head-count, and haven't returned yet either.

Sara seems antsy to get everyone back, so Ava, their previous conversation in mind, volunteers to go collect the new duo while Sara goes and finds Ray, who is no doubt making friends with a bear somewhere. As she heads downhill in the direction Zari indicated, trotting down the slope, Sara's voice stops her mid-step.

"It's probably best if I go," she seem to have sprinted whatever distance there was between them initially, "or at least I go with you. She doesn't know you and well, I can imagine she wouldn't react well to being startled by someone she doesn't know."

"Isn't Fiss like her…eyes and ears?" On a good day, Ava would admit a part of her reticence is due to the fact that she doesn't really understand  _that_  – whatever short explanation was enough for Constantine didn't really do it for her.

"He's not with her," Sara responds curtly. "At least not close."

After a short hike, they arrive to a rock formation that rises up from the slope, surrounded by short tundra and some mountain bloom. It's the north side of the mountain with a few patches of residue snow spattered here and there around at the hillside where the sun couldn't reach them; the air is colder here and a little heavier with the refreshing humidity.

Sara stops suddenly, and puts a finger on her lips, indicating towards something by the rocks.

Sure enough, Grey is sitting there, still as the stones surrounding her, in a perfect lotus position, eyes closed, her shoulders rising at a steady cadence. Her hands are folded in front of her with her fingers intertwined in a strange, intricate-looking settings, just below her breastbone.

"Is she—" Sara cuts Ava off with a silent but resolute  _shush_.

She looks up, clearly searching the skies for something hopefully before sighing and speaking out loudly in a foreign language.

It renders no reaction.

"Try louder," Ava suggest in a hushed voice. "Maybe she didn't hear you."

"Or we could try throwing rocks at her," Sara offers thoughtfully and Ava watches with disbelieving eyes as she starts looking around, searching for a suitable stone.

They are both too busy to notice the flying object before it hits Sara's shoulder. She yelps out in surprise and picks up the perfect throwing stone – not too big but not too small, void of any sharp edges. Her eyes suspiciously shoot to the motionless figure.

That is newly sporting a smirk.

"You are about as quiet as a herd of thirsty elephants," she remarks, opening her eyes. "I could hear you almost all the way from the ship."

"You good to go?" Sara asks simply and Grey rises slowly in response, stretching her limbs as she walks towards us.

"All good. It hasn't been two hours though."

The trip up to the ship isn't long; at one point a large bird of prey – Fiss, Ava realises – descends from the sky, turning into a cheetah for a moment before turning back and flying off ahead.

By the time they have made it to the Waverider Zari has already found Ray and the two of them are sitting on the ship's ramp.

"We could take advantage of the open space," Grey says thoughtfully, looking around.

"You thinking teams?" Sara's eyes are alight with excitement. "Alright, come outside you sleepy heads," she yells into the ship. "We're having a little training session."

Not everyone seems as enthusiastic about the idea as their captain; Constantine mutters something about fighting with his brain, gaining a smirk and a biting retort from Grey and Zari respectively, and Mick grumbles something about burning everyone to the ground for forcing him to what I gather is participating in a group activity. He makes a move to go retrieve his gun, but Zari stops him and reminds him of his ongoing totem training, which is meet with little zeal. Ray, however, runs inside and returns back in a couple of minutes, clad in his ATOM suit and pushing a reluctant Charlie in front of him.

"What I need to watch you train now, too," she protests stubbornly and Grey laughs from where she's coming back with a quiver on her back and two bōs, a tubus and a bow in her hands.

"You are more than welcome to join, sweetcheeks. I am sure many here will enjoy having a shot at kicking you ass; and so would you."

She straps the quiver tighter across her torso, jumping up and down a couple of times to ensure all arrows are firmly set. Rory and Zari have already taken over one corner of the clearing with the most stones and she's now explaining something to him. Sara watches them contently before turning her gaze to Ray.

"You up for some flying? How many arrows do you have," she turns to Grey questioningly. "I want to work on his reflexes. He will fly around, you will shoot at him and me. Charlie can retrieve the arrows that miss Ray and I will retrieve the ones you shoot at me. The one of us who has the most arrows in the end wins – unless Ray has less then five, then he wins."

"Sounds good," Grey nods in agreement. "Fiss, you're grounded, she'd only try accusing us of cheating."

The rest of the small group is a collective picture of  _not good._ Ray seems least concerned about himself and most about the general idea of someone weilding a weapon that can kill in the company of friends, while Charlie just looks between Sara and Grey like she's waiting for them to add something that will make the plan sound less insane. Ava is the only one who finds it in her to speak out loud.

"But what is she  _shoots you_?" she gets out, completely thrown.

Two pairs of profoundly confused eyes turn to her in unison.

"Then it's points for me," Grey shrugs like it's the most obvious thing in the world at the same time with Sara's nonchalant "That's the  _point_."

"Any vulnerable points on the suit I should avoid?"

Now Grey is focused on Ray, sizing him up and down where he's taken to slightly anxiously hover a couple of feet above ground. He turns and describes the location on his back, and she walks over and puts her hand on it. "So here?"

"Yes, there."

"Cool. Let's go. Charlie, you will want to be aware of where Ray is to know where his arrows fly and of where Sara is to not catch an arrow in. I will not move my left foot from this spot, you two stay within the limits of the clearing and avoid the benders' corner. It's sixteen arrows each."

"You said you have thirty three though," Ava tries to delay the clearly unavoidable one last time.

As if in response, Sara reaches for the ball Charlie took from Grey's tubus earlier and, snatching it from her hands, she tosses it high up in the air. Grey turns in one swift motion, knocking an arrow in as it reaches the peak of its trajectory.

From then on it is a swirl of movement, swish of arrows and clings of metal on metal and in what seems both like an hour and like a thirty second, Grey announces an empty quiver.

Ray flies down, claiming fourteen hits, four of which got stuck in various parts of his suit. Sara trots over, proudly carrying eleven arrows, three scratches and two tears in her t-shirt. The ten arrows that were grounded after colliding with the ATOM suit return with Charlie, who declares that she will not take part in another round, and "no way in hell am I going out there looking for your bloody flying sticks."

"They're called arrows and they're not bloody," Grey mutters under her breath and declares at a normal volume that Fiss is already looking for them anyway.

Sara turns to walk towards Ava as Grey leaves to retrieve her six strayed arrows from the woods. Ava is still struck frozen by the spectacle she just witnessed. Truthfully, watching her girlfriend being  _shot at_  with  _actual arrows_  for fun is definitely not an activity she thought she'd ever be experiencing. But Sara is closing in on her with a wide smile and cheeks tinted with excitement, proudly recounting all of the more impressive catches she pulled off and Ava can't help but smile at that, however strainedly.

Sara throws a waterbottle to Ray, who is testing his thrusters and manoeuvring above the clearing. By the time he returns it, Grey has come back from her arrow-hunting quest and she takes to observing Zari and Mick with great interest. When they move to take a break, she steps in.

"If I may," she starts, "how does it work?"

"We are totem bearers," Zari replies, moving towards her. "I activate the totem by tapping it," she demonstrates, "and then I can basically control air. Same for Rory, only with fire."

Grey seems to consider this and then nods to herself. "And you then just go and...throw the element around."

"Yeah, that usually works. Why?"

"I mean...it seems a little haphazard. Maybe you would benefit from having a structure, that would increase your efficiency and allow you to use your resources in a more concentrated way. If you can command air," she trails off and twirls around, seemingly lost in thought. "One of the three main Chinese schools is what might be useful for you. It's called Baguazhang and it's all about broad movements," she moves around to demonstrate.

Zari doesn't seem too enthused. "How do you mean?"

Sara is watching the exchange with interest and approaches the duo slowly, picking up her bō on the way.

"I mean air is element of no real substance, right? Sure, you can create strong currents and vortex and whatnot, but mainly it's all about altering your surroundings, using the energy of your opponent, it's the evasive element. Have you ever tried catching a leaf that's fallen off a tree? It's difficult, because your movements create currents that alter its trajectory. Baguzahang is the same – you have to be the leaf."

Sara chuckles and Zari looks at her confusedly. "Nothing," Sara chuckles again, albeit more lightly this time. "It's just... _be the leaf_." She stops, looking like she's considering something, then twirls her bō in her hand. "Watch," she says to Zari and launches at Grey.

Grey moves out of the way of the staff, smile on her face, hands joined behind her back. Hey eyes are just as alight as Sara's were when she suggested the shooting game, darting around before they come to a stop and she closes them.

Sara waits for about two seconds before lunging forward again, but by then the space Grey occupied is empty and they start off on what looks like a deadly dance routine in which one is trying actively to knock the other out.

"How is this supposed to help me with my air totem? Or Rory with his fire totem?" Zari is still not sold.

They continue their dance, taking turns in answering. "It just gives your moves—" Sara starts as Grey ducks and sidesteps easily out of the reach of the staff "—direction and allows you to control them—" Sara strikes horizontally, forcing her to fall backwards before she propels herself up again, situating herself behind Sara, moving with her "—better. Same for Mick, although Baguzahang is maybe not—" Grey's ankle catches and she follows the movement of the staff, using it to counterbalance herself back straight upwards before sidestepping again "—the best for fire, but there are others."

"Bottom line is, being aware of how your body moves is always a plus," Grey finishes and twirls out of the way of the latest attack with a flourish and a smirk, "and knowing how your  _opponent_  moves, well that won't hurt you either. " She catches the bō as Sara makes one last swing at her torso and uses the change in its momentum to force it out of Sara's hand. Looking up, she smiles, not unkindly. "You always fall for that one, little bird. When will you ever learn?"

* * *

Much later, in the temporal zone, Zari is heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water before bed when voices coming from the parlour stop her.

Heading over to inspect, she runs into someone. Literally. Head-on.

"Wohoo, watch it," Charlie protests loudly, effectively silencing the other conversation. Sara's head peaks out of the parlour doorway and a grin appears on her face.

"What's up? It's late."

"Fancy a drink? Figured you weren't left with much after I drank your whiskey," Charlie returns the grin and holds up a bottle.

"Sure," Sara's eyes light up. "Come on Z, let's have a girls' night out. In. Whatever." And with that, her head disappears.

The parlour's centre desk is uncharacteristically tidy; the only things on it are a bottle of clear liquor and a pair of feet. The feet undisputedly belong to Grey, who is laid on her back comfortably with her legs propped up, one empty glass resting on her stomach, another in her hand. She turned her head to watch the two enter and smirked contently when her eyes zeroed in on the bottle in Charlie's hand.

"Please tell me that's anything else but gin. This has been a horrible experience so far," she lifts one of the empty glasses in greetings and illustration. "How do you only have gin and rum," she turns to Sara towards the end, frowning disapprovingly.

"My liquor cabinet got recently raided," Sara responds flippantly, snatching the glass off her as she passes before plopping sideways into an armchair.

"Not a clue," Charlie shrugs in response to the question, "found it in the storage room."

Grey motions for the bottle and sits up to take it when Charlie hands it over. She opens it and sniffs the content cautiously.

"Raki," she concludes, her eyes widening in a happy surprise. "I will be damned."

"Since you're almost standing," Fiss' voice comments lazily from where he's sprawled out in his cheetah form off to the side from where her head was just moments ago, "you can get me that rug."

It sounds almost like a purr.

She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and shoots him a slow smile. "I don't know, MeMe," she drawls out playfully in response. "It's awfully far." He purrs again, only this time it sounds threatening. She laughs and pulls herself up.

"So," Zari accept the glass Grey hands her, watching Sara try knock a rug off a shelf by throwing various objects at it, "what is the occasion?"

"It's Sunday," Sara responds as she launches a wooden stick, finally succeeding in getting the rolled rug down. "There you go, Fissy."

He throws her an unimpressed look, but gets up nonetheless, murmuring a  _thank you_. Grey passes a glass to Charlie who's taken over the chair and kicks the rug, unrolling it. Fiss sprawls over it head first, looking every bit the big cat he is. Grey unceremoniously pushes him a little to free some space for her to put her head on as she resumes her position on the floor. With few options left, Zari sits by the wall, leaning her back against it comfortably.

"...and then Hex gave her his dirty cowboy hat, to  _remember him by_ ," Sara finishes with a giggle.

"What can I say," Zari tries defending herself with a light slurr, "he was kinda hot."

"And that's how the whole hell broke loose," Grey gets out, trying really hard – and failing – to suppress a chuckle. "You lot really are something, aren't you."

"We try, we try," Sara smirks. "Now your turn. What was the weirdest thing anyone's ever given to you."

Grey laughs. "Dunno. I guess—" she stops abruptly, sitting up. "Fiss? What is it?"

The cheetah is up, too, snarling.

"I don't know," he speaks, the fur on his back bristled. "Something's wrong."

"Gideon?" Sara shoots out, getting on her feet too. "What's going on?"


	6. Lightning Strikes Thrice

Ava is far from happy. This has been a horrible week and it's only three in the morning on a Monday.

First she got called to the Bureau by Captain Heywood, who wanted an immediate presentation of the Bureau's plans for the new facilities, followed by a tour of the current ones. Neither of which could, for whatever reason, wait until the  _later_  hours of the morning.

Nate was trying to be a good sport and offered to join, but his father seemed to be annoyed at something and poor Nate only took the brunt of it. He departed abruptly and left Ava and Nate behind.

They didn't really have any time to worry about what his new attitude might mean for their budget, because a couple of minutes after he left three masked figures in black robes appeared out of thin air and attacked them.

So now Nate is all steeled up and holding off two of them, while the third is making a beeline for Ava. She managed to press the panic button Sara had Gideon implant in her phone before the figure stroke for the first time – he was wielding a sword, like his companions, and while she was trying her best to fend him off with her baton, it soon became clear she won't last for much longer.

Nate started losing his ground a while ago, backing off towards her under the persistent pressure of the two black-clad figures. Now one of them took a few steps back, leaving his companion to continue his siege of the steel man, and pulled a bow off his back. Ava was preoccupied with her own opponent, but she noticed the movement and her blood ran cold. _I am going to get shot_ , she realised with a distant shiver, and the memory of yesterday's afternoon ran through her mind, of friendly fire and the elevated look on Sara's face as she was catching the arrows Grey shot at her. 

And with that thought, the tale-tell sound of a portal opening swishes through the corridor and Sara jumps out, shortly followed by Zari.

And Grey, who takes in the scene and wastes no time before jumping in the middle of it.

"Tawaqufae!" She shouts with a breathtaking amount of authority. "Everyone stand down! Hada amrun!"

The set freezes upon her words.

A few seconds later, the one nearest to Nate recovers and takes off, charging at her with his sword drawn out. Two steps out, he is stopped by a blade to his neck. The figure that was fighting Ava hisses something at him, taking the blade away and pushing the other black-clad figure out of his way to approach Grey who hasn't even flinched thorough the exchange, a perfectly indifferent expression on her face.

"Almufadal," he starts, stopping in front of her with his sword lowered and head bowed, "we are here on business. We were not expecting you."

"I realise that." She doesn't sound happy. "Leave us," she orders and while she didn't address anyone directly, Ava can feel her feet obeying despite her mind firing different signals.

"Come," Sara takes her elbow gently, leading her girlfriend away. There is a strange expression on her face. "Come, she'll be ok."

They return to the Waverider, where the Captain clearly expects everyone to sit idly and twirl their thumbs until  _something_  happens. 

"What is going on?" Ava finally breaks and fire at Sara. "Who were those people and why did they attack us? And how does Grey know them? I thought you said she was an old friend. Do all your friends associate with assassins?"

That gains her an unamused look.

"Sara is an assassin," Zari points out rather unhelpfully, earning a sharp glance from the subject of her statement and a grin from Mick.

"Wait, they were assassins? Like the League assassins?" Ray raises his head. "I thought Nyssa disbanded the League after she took over."

Something flickers across Sara's face and Ava turns to Ray, then back to her.

"What League?"

"The League of Assassins. And I don't know, ok," she turns to Ray, "I don't know any more than you do, maybe less. Grey will tell us what's going on once she gets back."

She seems on edge, walking back and forth across the bridge, her team watching her with varying levels of concern and uneasiness. Finally, she slams her palms down on the central console.

"That was unnecessary, Captain Lance," Gideon says rather reproachfully. That seems to be the last drop in Sara's proverbial cup of patience. She grunts something unintelligible and makes for the door, disappearing in the corridor. Ava moves to follow her, when Ray's voice stops her in her tracks.

"She's probably going to the gym to punch the hell out of one of the dummies," he says gently. "We've learnt it's best to...let her work out her frustration undisturbed."

Ava wants to argue, she really does, but something stops her. Tiredly, she slumps down the nearest chair instead.

"What is this league?" She turns to Ray, who seems to be the one with answers.

"It's an ancient organisation of assassins," he starts, "it's where Sara trained. Twice. It's led by Ra's al Ghul, the Head of the Demon, the latest of which was Nyssa al Ghul. She became the Head after...well long story short after her father died, and I thought she disbanded it. It seems she didn't. Or maybe someone else took it upon themselves to create a new one."

"And why did they attack  _us_ ," Nate joins in on the questioning. "Did someone like...order a hit on me or Ava?"

"That's not really how the League operates," Ray answers carefully, "or at least not how it did operate, I think. They're not killers for hire, they choose their own targets based on their...threat to humanity or something like that."

"So me or Nate are a threat to humanity?" Ava asks incredulously. "How does that even make sense?"

"It doesn't."

Grey is back and all the eyes in the room are on her.

"It was a simple case of mistaken identity. They are sorry and they promised it won't happen again. You can go back, they'll escort you both home so that you are safe. I promised we wouldn't tell on them so, you know, don't go babbling."

She seems tired and a little tense.

"You want me to allow them to escort me home? After they tried to  _kill me_?" Ava barks out incredulously, her own tension bubbling up.

"I  _said_  they are  _sorry_  and they promised it _won't happen again_ ," she repeats, imposingly. "You can stay here, for all I care. Same for you, Nate."

She looks at him and he returns the look, nodding shortly.

"I might sleep in, Ava, if that's alright," he tells his boss as he opens the portal back to the Bureau and the team watches him as it closes.

By then, Grey is already on her way out and Ava, sensing she's off to report to Sara, sprints after her.

"Please don't follow me," she doesn't turn or slow down in her march through the corridor. "What I am to tell Sara is for her ears. If and what she chooses to tell you later will be her decision. But now give us privacy."

They are by the door of the gym now.

"I have the right to hear this," Ava take a step closer, her pent up fury getting the better of her. They are almost nose to nose and Ava doesn't seem too far from actually pushing her. "You don't decide these things for me."

Grey moves as fast as a lightning and suddenly Ava is pinned to the wall, her face inches from seething Grey's. Off to the side, Sara runs out the gym, probably startled by the noise, and Fiss growls, low and threatening, to keep her in place.

"Do not talk to me about _rights_ ," Grey's voice is as low and as threatening as her daemon's and her hands are off Ava as fast as they moved to pin her up. Without a second look at either of the two other women, she walks into the gym with Fiss in tow, his fur all bristled and his tail moving in staccato from side to side in agitation.

Sara moves towards the other blonde cautiously.

"Are you ok?"

She nods her assurance, straightening her jacket. Sara gives her a look and motions towards the gym.

"I need to talk to her. You want to spend the night here? I won't be long."

"I'll just hear it too," Ava starts, but the response surprises her.

"I think it's best if you wait in my room. Or wherever you want. It'll be short, I promise."

And with that, Sara disappears in the gym, the door sliding shut.

Her anger returns and she slams her palm at the reader lock. It beeps red.

"What the hell, Gideon, open the door, it's me," she orders the AI sharply.

"I'm afraid I can't, Director Sharpe," Gideon's perfectly levelled voice replies, leaving no room for argument. "Captain's orders."

* * *

"Don't let anyone in, Gideon," Sara instructs as the door slides shut behind her and the AI affirms.

Fiss is stood in the middle of the room, still all bristled and sharp, and her friend's standing behind him, a perfect statue of poise, with hands folded over her chest. Her eyes are the only thing that moves, heavy grey with speckles of green, watching Sara intently.

"That was pretty stupid, jumping in like that," Sara starts on what she hopes is a light-hearted note. "You couldn't know if they knew you."

"I knew they would know me," the response matches her light-hearted tone. "I just didn't know if it'd matter."

She shifts her foot a little and Sara looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. But the imposing eyes are proud and regal and cold grey, like they are windows to the walls that surround her; and this is the least convenient of times, Sara realises, to be reminded that behind all her jokes and laughs and light golden hazel eyes and an alleged lifetime of evidence to the contrary, she is her father's favourite daughter.

"Who ordered the attack?"

"There was no such order," sounds a levelled response. "It was a recon mission and they came across Ava and Nate by accident. One of them was a novice and got a little overenthusiastic. They are sorry."

The finality with which she pronounces the last word makes Sara not want to ask any more, because she remembers all too well exactly  _how much_  sorry is worth in the League.

"Who is heading the League now, then," she asks instead.

"The rightful Ra's al-Ghul," the other woman answers. "The League was shortly disbanded to weed out the dirt and the rotten and then put back together, old and fresh. But that is my assumption, not a fact."

So Nyssa, a thought flashes through Sara's mind before she can stop it or try to ignore the feeling in her stomach. To them, there is no other  _rightful_  Ra's al-Ghul.

"Did you—" Trying to ignore the feeling in her stomach means she cannot fully formulate her next question.

"I told them nothing more than what was strictly relevant," she gets an answers regardless, the inquisitive eyes surveying her carefully. "And they asked no questions. We agreed on a version of events that works out for everyone."

Sara chuckles, part in amusement, part in relief.

"Of course you did."

She returns the smile mildly, watching Sara's face closely; watching as details are slipping and focus is hard to come by when her consciousness is fogged by all the implications of the words, especially the ones that weren't said. One in particular pulses through the air between them, or maybe just through the front of Sara's mind at the same frequency as her heartbeat as she tries to regain her composure, echoing through her brain, her ears, pushing out everything else. Name that has been a part of her for as long as she can remember, as alive as her scars and the pull in her muscles. Nyssa.

"Why were they doing a recon at the Time Bureau?" She asks for a distraction.

In turn, she receives a cold look.

"That is business of the League, not ours," her friend says in a clipped tone. "But I understand their worry. A collection of magical creatures all hoarded up in a secret facility of a secret government agency...I would be worried too."

And from her tone it's clear she  _is_  worried, her dislike for the establishment Sara has noticed long ago seeping through her words. Regardless, the private jab was obvious and Sara decides to take that road.

"Ava would never—"

An incredulous sounds interrupts her words; it's hard to tell whether it was her or Fiss, but she speaks, her voice bordering on mocking.

"It would hardly be your girlfriend's call."

She turns and smiles lightly after a moment as Sara tries to quell her anger and suddenly  _Grey_ is back, like flipping a switch, or turning around too suddenly.

"Speaking of which," her voice is perfectly light-hearted and slightly teasing, "you should probably go and find her. I figure she'll be royally pissed."

Deciding to not fight her on it just yet, Sara shrugs lightly. "If she hasn't left already."

"She hasn't," Grey replies, sounding a bit too sure to not earn a quizzical look. "She doesn't have her time courrier," she smiles devilishly.

* * *

Talk about a night of drinking gone spectacularly wrong, Charlie thinks as the bridge empties slowly.

At first everyone jumped after Grey and her cat freaked out over nothing, but then a alarm on Sara's phone sounded and she called everyone to the bridge, pretty much simultaneously opening a portal and jumping out. Zari, who was a little wobbly on her feet followed, as did Grey, who looked as fresh as a crisp leaf.

Charlie gave up waiting and went to get a glass of water and when she got back, Mick was just leaving, murmuring something about  _girl drama_  and Ava looked just about ready to throw something at him.

"Didn't you leave like seven hours ago?" Charlie loses no sleep over tip-toeing.

"Yeah, well, now I'm back," Ava utters and then turns sharply. "Gideon, give me the audio from the gym."

"Director Sharpe—" the Irish voice starts, but Ava doesn't let her finish.

"Director's override," she snaps instead and it's almost strange to actually be  _able_ to feel disdain emitting from an artificial programme like this.

In turn, the bridge is filled with Grey's voice, only sans her usual teasing edge; it's chilly, like cave air.

"—of the League, not ours. But I understand their worry. A collection of magical creatures all hoarded up in a secret facility of a secret government agency...I would be worried too."

Ava's face is pale as a sheet, in shock.

"Ava would never—" Sara's voice is heard, trying to defend her lover, but a vocalised sneer cuts her off.

"It would hardly be your girlfriend's call," Grey bites and it's full of ridicule.

"Sara is good," Charlie turns to Ava slowly. "She kept me here and she wouldn't harm them if she could help it. And she's with you, so I just assume you are the same." She pauses for a while before continuing. "What are you going to do with them, with those you can't send back to hell?"

He face is still pale and she turns to look at Charlie slowly.

"I—," she stammers, "I don't know. Keep them contained until we figure it out. What  _else_  can we do," she looks up almost desperately.

Any response if cut by the sound of approaching footsteps and Ava's expression grows panicked. She opens her mouth to say something but a voice transferred from the gym beats her to it.

"Cut the line, Gideon," Grey sounds indifferent, almost bored.

The transmission cuts just as Sara enters the bridge to find Charlie and Ava, the latter giving an impressive impression of a deer caught in the headlights.

* * *

_"Gladly, Ms al-Ghul," you hear the AI's voice and you know she did as you asked._

_"Nothing gets past you, Gideon, does it," you chuckle mirthlessly and leave the gym._


	7. What Lies Behind Truth

Ava is suspiciously silent as her and Sara change into their pyjamas. She opted to spend the night on the Waverider after all, upon Sara's insistence; she will get some sleep in the temporal zone and jump back to 2017 to start her Monday off rested.

"So, you gonna tell me what happened?"

When she finally breaks the silence, her voice is both timid and accusing and that makes Sara look up in surprise.

"I thought Grey told you," she starts off start carefully, not yet quite decided how to approach the subject. "They were League people and they came to do recon at the Bureau. They didn't expect anyone to be there at that time of night and when they saw you, one of them panicked and the rest just went with it to prevent having any witnesses. She told me they were sorry." The last word still tastes a little bitter on her tongue and she tries not to think about it too much.  _One of them was a novice_ , the cold grey eyes said – it must have been the one who charged at her when she stepped in to stop the fight.

Ava stares at Sara silently, this clearly won't be enough.

"That's it?"

A quizzical shrug is her response.

"How about why they stopped when  _Grey_  jumped in? Why didn't they just kill her? What did they tell her when we left? What were they doing  _a recon at the Bureau_ for? Why won't you just tell me?" Her volume increases with each question and the last one has an edge of panic to it.

"I guess they are just worried about what's currently going on at the Time Bureau," Sara tells her softly. "And the League likes to know what's going on, so they just went to investigate. But that's just our assumption. Grey said she didn't ask. She's not one to meddle in other people's business." Granted, if Sara had to guess what she does for living, meddling in other people's business would definitely be somewhere on the top of the list, but she knows for a fact she never meddles in the  _League's_  business.

"And what do you think?" Ava is now standing at the edge of the bed, looking heartbreakingly crestfallen and Sara moves to take her hands.

"I think their worry might not be completely misplaced. I have seen people do crazy things to get power, to get their hands on powerful things, and some of them were much less powerful that a herd of magical creatures. I don't mean the Bureau would go astray, but someone might." She pauses slightly. "And with metahumans and everything, it might not seem like such a temptation, but you never know. It's just...right now they're pretty much there for taking."

Ava's face turns ashen and she half collapses on the bed, slumping down, not even moving the covers away. She's sat upright, staring into nothing, thinking about her girlfriend's words.

Sara moves away to give her space. Maybe it makes me a bad person, she thinks, being silently grateful Ava has these things to worry about that distract her from asking further about Grey.

"Who is Grey? How did you meet her? And no lies."

_Never mind._

"I met her a long time ago," Sara starts slowly – Ava said no lies and the last thing Sara wants to do is to lie to her, but she cannot tell the whole truth, not yet. She doesn't  _want_  Ava to know the truth, more importantly. Because that would lead to more questions, and her life is complicated enough as it is, she thinks selfishly, and her relationship with the Time Bureau director is the one thing that is oh so blissfully simple. "She trained me, shortly. And she knows about the League. But I don't know what she does or who she actually is, not really. I just know she's a friend. A friend I trust."

Ava nods, accepting the answer, and falls silently back into her own thoughts.

Following her lead, Sara can't help but think about the answer to the second question, the one she purposefully omitted.

_First they met was a couple of months after Sara came to the League. Summer must have been just beginning, because when she woke up it was already light outside, and she had a swordsmanship morning with Raqisa that day, which always started early. When she arrived at the dōjō, someone was already there – one whom she recognised as Al-Awal, the dōjō's master and one of the best swordsmen of the League, and someone else._

_Focused mostly on her own preparation while waiting for her teacher, she only started paying more attention when she realised whoever was on the opposite side of Al-Awal's sword was giving him a run for his money. They moved effortlessly in a well-practised dance of long-time partners and one move in particular caught Sara's untrained eye – Al-Awal launched a forceful strike from the side, forcing the sword out of his opponent's hand, but instantly the sword was recovered by the left hand, so seamlessly and effortlessly, proceeding with a powerful blow to Al-Awal's right shoulder that he only so-so blocked, as if it wasn't Al-Awal's strike that forced it, but a deliberate swap to confuse him and make things more interesting. Al-Awal grunted slightly, muttering something Sara's heavily lacking Arabic didn't decipher, and his opponent laughed mirthlessly – it was a woman, Sara realised – as they continued their dance._

_They broke off when Sara's teacher arrived and asked Al-Awal for permission to use the dōjō. He motioned for her to take it and left almost immediately, while his opponent stayed behind for a few more minutes and watched the lesson intently from the sides before disappearing too. When Sara asked Raqisa about them at the end of her session, her teacher only shrugged. "Almufadal has come back again," she said before proceeding to pick out on her pupil's mistakes._

Tearing herself from the memory, Sara casts a look at Ava and see she's already fallen asleep. Sighing heavily, she decides to follow her lead, tucking the covers tighter around her body. Tomorrow – today – will be a long day.

* * *

The morning at the Time Bureau started as any other, not giving away the events of last night at the slightest.

When Ava arrived, she headed straight for her office, asking Gary to get her all files the Bureau has on the magical creatures, and to not disturb her.

The man delivered some half an hour later, stumbling through the door with a huge stack of folders and free-flying documents. After he dumped the forest-worth of paper on her desk, he lingered indecisively.

"Anything else I can do for you, Director Sharpe?"

"No, thank you," Ava answered, not unkindly. "Just keep everyone out until at least lunch, I have some work to do. And Gary," he turned in the door, "everyone  _means_  everyone. Even Captain Lance."

He nodded with a look that was equal part scared and confused, and backed out of the door, closing it.

The Director exhaled deeply and sized the paper tower on her desk. She woke up before Sara this morning and went straight here, deciding on the way to go through all the paperwork. It was probably her adrenaline-induced state, she thought, still lingering from last night, that made her think it'd be a good idea. But despite the volume of the files, this might be exactly what she needs right now. Some hard data. Facts. Making sure everything here is in order. That no-one at the Time Bureau is planning on creating  _an army composed of magical creatures_. Because that was what Sara suggested last night, wasn't it.

Bristling slightly at the thought, she dove into the files.

Around lunchtime, Gary popped his head in and asked carefully if she wanted something it eat. Knowing he wouldn't let it go, she asked for a sandwich and when he brought it, she prolonged the entry ban for her office.

Halfway through the pile, she moves her head to relieve some tension in her neck and sits back. The sandwich is still sitting in its paper bag at the edge of the desk where Gary precariously placed it and she shortly considers eating it. Judging by the darkness that's slowly seeping in through the windows it's gotten late, but she reaches for the cup of coffee Gary brought with it instead – it's ice cold and gross by now, but the caffeine is still blissfully present.

A quick scan of her phone tells her it's long past eight in the evening and that she have several missed calls from Sara, accompanied by a couple of texts. Foregoing the messages, she holds the phone up and hesitates. Maybe she should at least give her concernd girlfriend a call to tell her she's ok – though after she was unable to reach her, Sara probably either called Gary, or came here, both of which would result in him telling her Ava is fine and in her office and unavailable. So it's not like she's in a  _complete_  radio silence, she muses. Not like she's running from the weird feeling she's had since Sara stormed out of the bridge last night to go beat up a dummy. Just...prioritising. They will get through this funk, she decides with firm conviction. For now, it's prioritising.

And with that final thought, she rolls my head one more time and goes back to the reports. So far nothing has suggested even the slightest hint of foul play, of anything out of the ordinary. There is that unfortunate fact that there's really no concrete plan of long-term action; nothing past the new containment facilities. But it's a prison for fugitives, after all – that shouldn't need any  _long-term action plan._ Regardless, it is the closest thing to a possible loophole she has come across.

Sighing, she reach for her phone again – it's quarter past ten and she spares a moment to wonder whether Gary gave up and left, or whether he's still around. Deciding to take a break to return Sara's calls, she hits her number and waits for the call to connect.

"My sister seems to value your life."

The phone jumps out of Ava's hand at the sound of a deep-toned voice with a pronounced British lilt.

A few feet from her desk stands a woman dressed in a dark red-accented leather ensemble, a quiver full of arrows strapped to her back. Her hood is up and a shemagh is covering most of her face, revealing only her dark eyes. Ava's hand automatically goes for her gun before realising she put it away when she walked in in the morning, so she resorts to trying to remain as stoic as she can muster, faintly hearing Sara's voice say her name through the receiver, abandoned on the ground.

"Who are you?" Ava asks her visitor with calmness that surprises her.

"I am Nyssa al-Ghul," the figure announces. "Head of the Demon. It seems we have some shared concerns."

* * *

Ever since Sara woke up to an empty bed, she's been trying to get in touch with Ava – first with a good-morning text that she hoped would dissipate any of the reasons due to which Ava left without saying it in person, then with carefully timed calls, of which all fell through. When she called Gary, he reported, somewhat shaken, that his boss got to the Bureau and has since been in her office, with a glaring do-not-disturb neon sign above her head. Not his exact words.

Deciding to give her the space she obviously needed, Sara waited for her to call herself.

Which she does, not long after what must be 10pm in 2017 Star City.

Elevated, Sara answers, greeting cheerfully, but the voice that comes through from the other end is not Ava's. It is distant and faint, but Sara would know it anywhere, at any time.

 _I am Nyssa al-Ghul_ , it says, hitting her in the gut like a freight train.  _Head of the Demon._

Charlie, who was passing on her way to the kitchen, watches Sara grab onto the console for support in a blind attempt to stay upright and she gives her a quizzical look. But there is only one thought at the front of the Captain's mind right now it seems, and Sara sees blindingly white, with only one emotion she elects to focus on right now. The easiest. Anger.

"NASIMA!"

Her voice blasts through the ship; it came from her belly, from the deep pit of hot, flaming fury she's feeling towards the woman right now.  _She had no right._

Like in a haze, she faintly hears footsteps; it figures at the sound of an unknown name everyone who's awake would come running, but she is only focused at the one person who didn't come running, the one who's face is impassive and closed-off instead of confused and slightly frightened as she saunters over. Sara distantly hears Ray and Zari, faintly and mutedly, as they ask what's going on, but they're just background noises as she charge forward blindly, pushing her friend strongly.

"How  _dare you_ ," she hisses in her face and the daemon changes into a huge leopard as her hands make contact, his resonate roar vibrating through the whole ship with a trembling warning.

The other woman has an impassive expression on her face and Sara wants to slap it off. But the usually warm hazel eyes are cold green now, with hints of grey, unrelenting and unbreakable, and Sara takes a step back to collect herself; wrath won't work here, she knows, no matter how strong – not with someone who stood her ground against Ra's al-Ghul when she was only a child, after all.

"How dare you," she repeats instead, more quietly this time.

"How dare I," her friend retorts, voice levelled. "How dare I  _what_ , Sara?"

"You told—" Sara chokes slightly on her words, "you said you  _came up with a story that works out for everyone_ ," her voice breaks a little at the betrayal, and she step back into her personal space, stabbing her finger into her chest and trying really hard to ignore Fiss' low warning growl. "You said you didn't tell them anything that wasn't relevant," She takes a step back again. "You said you didn't tell them!"

A hint of confusion flickers behind the grey eyes for the first time and she frowns slightly. "I told them Ava was not the enemy. That  _was_  relevant. I told them not to harm her, I told them where the holding cells were and I told them not to get bitten by anything. I told them to give  _my_  regards to  _my_  sister, if they felt like it. I told them to clean up. And that is  _all_  I told them."

Her eyes are clear and direct, daring Sara not to trust her. There is a whizzing sound; upon Sara's outburst, Mick got out his gun and is now pointing it at the other woman's head. She seems to notice too and swats it away irritably. "Get that stupid thing out of my face, for Christ sake."

"Well," Sara takes a step back, looking around the bridge to see the whole team is here, watching the exchange with varying levels of confusion and shock, "Ava just got a visitor at the Bureau."

Nasima's expression turns understanding, but not one bit surprised. Before either of us can say something, Gideon speaks.

"We have an incoming transmission from Director Sharpe, Captain," she says and Sara waves her on.

"Put her through, Gideon."

"Sara," Ava's voice fills the bridge; it's careful and a little airy. "I...can you come here? I'm at the office. I think you should hear this."

* * *

A portal opens and Sara appears, walking out of it cautiously. Her eyes land on the Head of the Demon and she stops dead in her tracks.

"Sara," the other woman speaks out, emotion in her voice that makes Ava look up from the papers she's been studying intently for the past ten minutes. Before she can dwell on it, Grey makes it through the portal with her daemon in tow, bumping Sara out of the way slightly. To Ava's mild surprise, she too stops upon seeing Ms al-Ghul and, to her complete surprise, she lowers herself in a small bow.

"Ra's al-Ghul," she says solemnly, continuing for a few sentences in another language. "Qad yaikou'n eahedak taw'yil wua'hakiim'."

"Sayid al-khayir, 'ukhti alsughraa" Ava's visitor responds in kind, inclining her head to return the greeting to her first, then to Fiss. "Meterifis, a-salaam aleykum. Kayif haalek?"

Grey only mutters "Mashghuula wu-muta'ahkhkharia," before moving to stand between her and Sara.

"What is it," Sara asks Ava pressingly and she hands her a file. Sara scans through it, with Grey looking over her shoulder. When they get to the end of the first memo, Sara looks up, first at Ava, then at the black-clad woman who brought the file in.

"Did you bring more people?"

"I did," the woman replies, "there—"

But Sara doesn't let her finish, her words coming out in an almost incoherent string of syllables.

"We will need to move fast. If the memo is right, we still have some time, but that is the only thing that plays in our favour. We need to find out who  _exactly_  is in charge and—"

"Beloved, we—" Ava hears Ms al-Ghul interrupt her girlfriend and freezes.  _Excuse me what now?_

The collective silence that follows is deafening.

Completely unperturbed, Grey lifts her head from where she's been reading the rest of the file after Sara abandoned it.

"Do we know a Captain Hank Heywood?"

Sara tears herself from her stupor, breaking the stillness. "Nate's dad," she says, "and the Bureau's contact to the DoD. Why?"

"Well he's your guy," Grey says what Ava's already found out before they came in. "The  _one in charge_ ," she adds upon Sara's confused expression. "The one writing these memos," she lifts the file up to illustrate.

Ava feels like she's choking, the  _I'm so sorry Sara_  she's been preparing to say ever since she'd gotten over the initial shock of seeing the name on the page stuck halfway through her throat. Suddenly, her vocal chords are limp and uncooperative. There is so much – too much – of what she's missing and the world just seems to be spinning on and on and on, getting faster with each turn, and it feels like if it doesn't slow down soon she will fall off.

The dark-haired assassin turns to her.

"I understand this is a lot to take in, if this man is your friend," she says. He's not, but she's not wrong. "Find a secure location where we can meet tomorrow; me and my people will meet you there."

And with that, she turns on her heel and disappears as silently as she came.

Sara is mutely starting at the space the woman just occupied, as if in a trance. When Ava asks her  _how will she know where to meet_ , Grey answers instead, short and off-handed.

"She will."

And that's another thing that's have Ava's head spinning, and maybe if she starts getting answers one by one, she thinks, she can make it stop.

"Who the hell are you?" It came out as a bark, but the grey-eyed woman merely smiles, straightening up, and suddenly she seems just a little larger, Fiss leaning against her legs lazily in the form of a large cat, not a cheetah anymore, more like a leopard, Ava thinks.

"Right," she smiles, "I've never actually got the chance to introduce myself," and she  _hasn't_ , actually, it was Sara who did. "I am Nasima al-Ghul," she says.

These words seem to break Sara out of her daze and she throws out a quick smile that looks more rehearsed than anything before grabbing Grey – no,  _Nasima_ , by the arms and pushing her back to the Waverider through the portal.

Once her and Ava are alone in Ava's office, Sara turns to her.

"I am sorry this is happening," she says. "But we will get to the bottom of it. We won't let anyone hijack the Time Bureau again, I promise."

Her eyes are earnest and she smiles one last time before opening a portal for the last time and walking through.

 _She didn't even ask if I wanted to stay the night_ , Ava realises.

* * *

transcript of the dialogue in Arabic between Nyssa and Nasima

_Head of the Demon, [], may you reign long and wise._

_Good hunting, little sister, []. Peace upon you, Meterifis. How are you?_

_Busy and late._


	8. Leaves Ahead

With a corner of your eye, you watch Nyssa as she inclines her head to listen to something her second is saying, her eyes on the group in front of her. Eight League members are filed behind them like three sets of ghostly statues.

She looks good, you think, considering the circumstances. Taking your father's place – her rightful place, a role she's been training for her whole life – came at an unexpected cost and under less than favourable circumstances. You know she had to rebuild the League pretty much from the scratch after the mess your father and then Queen and Merlyn made out of it. But you can tell she's succeeding. And being Ra's al-Ghul suits her well. In hindsight, you are glad she got to rebuild the League in her image.

When she contacted you to inform you of your father's death, you talked about the League's future. Granted, both of you knew you didn't want – nor could – have much to do with it, but she asked for your input in the vaguest terms she could; and you tried to deliver to the best of your abilities and capabilities. She consulted Talia, too, you know; when you spoke, she mentioned she had yet to talk to her. Seeing they are both alive, as far as you can tell, it went well. Maybe it's time to catch up a little more; you  _are_  on a sabbatical, after all. You're in a weird limbo, a true Schrödinger's cat. Until you leave here, you are neither in nor out.

You feel Fiss rub against the side of your knee and your hand finds his head automatically.  _Nyssa wants to talk_ , he tells you and you hum in understanding. Of course she does. But neither of you can leave right now.

"No, Sara, what you don't seem to understand is that we  _can't_  just storm the DoD and demand answers," you hear Ava's exasperated voice. "You brought –" she hesitates slightly and scans Nyssa and her companions "– a bunch of assassins –  _wanted criminals_  – here and expect what, that the US government officials will just roll over and tell us what we want to hear since we asked so nicely?"

 _Weren't planning on asking so nicely_ , you think humorously and bet on Nyssa to say it. Fiss gamely puts his money on Sara.

"The programme is called Hades," Nyssa interjects. "We may be a bunch of wanted criminals, Director Sharpe, but we are very well-trained and very well-informed ones. Which seems to be something you are in dire need of, so I would refrain from criticising the gifted horse too harshly, if I were you."

Ava grimaces and turns to Sara. She must know Nyssa is right, but you would bet your favourite bow that Nyssa being a wanted criminal plays only a minor part in her disdain towards the woman. Ever since your ever-smitten big sister let the  _beloved_  slip last night, Ava has been on edge so sharp Mick could probably shave with it. And though Nyssa has been taking extra special care to keep hersef in line since, you are all just silently waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Besides, we weren't planning on asking nicely," Sara adds and you let out a silent  _tsk_  through your teeth as you feel Fiss bump into you in victory. Then you realise the other sound you  _almost_  heard was the sound of the very shoe you were just thinking about, hitting the ground. Because that was a definite  _we_  Ava was not a part of.

And the others heard it too.

"We don't have to storm any _where_ ," you decide to step in, because this really is  _no_  time for drama of this sort. "We just need to storm some _one_. We can sneak into the places we need to go. And then sneak out. Galileo and Figaro can stay at home."

"Who are Galileo and Figaro," Ray asks, befuddled.

"Magnificooo..." you trail off into morendo and hope that will be enough to diffuse the pudding of an atmosphere that has befallen the room.

Nyssa catches your drift and moves slightly forward.

"What my sister," she gives you a pointed look and you smirk for a good measure, "is trying to say, I believe," she starts, "is that we already have the answers. Our objective is to stop them from becoming reality."

"We know what they are planning," you continue, "courtesy of Zari, Gideon and our well-informed friends by equal part," you incline your head slightly towards Nyssa, "we just need them to  _un_ plan it."

"And how exactly would you imagine we do  _that_ ," Ava bites menacingly and you lift your eyes to find Nyssa's already on you – and after shifting your gaze to Sara to meet hers, you realise she must have turned her head from looking at Nyssa, who just closed the visual triangle, sure as a clockwork. Between the three of you, you can imagine many, _many_  ways to do that, each more convincing than the next; and you know that was a collective thought.

" _Or_ ," Fiss speaks out slowly, clearly amused, "we could just ask nicely."

"I  _always_  ask nicely, MeMe," you drawl out and he purrs in amused agreement. "But, if it makes Ava feel any better, we can start out by...reasoning with them," you continue in a more sober tone. "Add a few numbers here, kick it down a notch there, make their plan undesirable or scary. Make them  _not_  want to proceed with it. Well and if that doesn't work..." you trail off, leaving the sentence hang in its comfortable suspension.

Nyssa's eyes are on you and her nostrils are flared. She is livid, because she doesn't understand why you would say that. It is slow, unreliable, it's not  _clean_. But you are toeing a very,  _very_  thin line here, limbo or not, and you don't even want to begin to think of even  _thinking_  about the multiverse of all the kinds of utter  _shit_  it would create if things went sideways and someone found out you were involved.

"You want me to lie to my bosses," Ava asks incredulously and you allow yourself a private smile.

"The US government is not your boss," you tell her. "The United Nations are. Technically speaking."

"Technically— don't  _technically speaking_  me," she snaps at you. "The people who are paying me and my agency are my bosses and I won't lie about—"

"The money the DoD is giving you comes from their UN contribution budget," you cut her off and her eyes shoot to you in surprise. So you  _may_  have done some digging, but you're not quite ready to confess to that just yet. "It comes from that and the remaining UN member states; and whatever they're giving you on top of  _that_  is black money. You wouldn't be lying to your  _bosses,_  you'd be lying to the people who  _lie_  to your bosses.  _Technically speaking_."

She is eyeing you suspiciously and you feel Fiss vibrate with a mute purr next to you in warning.

"What," you try to salvage what you can, "I know how to google."

But you said too much and now the cogs in her head are turning – they won't click, not yet, probably not ever, but you just crossed a very important line. You shoot Nyssa a quick look you know only she will recognise as pleading, silently asking her to take the attention off you. That  _family emergency_  excuse is coming to bite you in the arse spectacularly. Maybe, just maybe, with Nyssa in charge, the agreement you had with your father is due for some retouching, a stray thought occurs. She catches your eye and steps in courageously.

"Ta'er al-Safer," she pulls out the big guns and you are swamped momentarily with affectionate gratitude. Sure enough, Sara's eyes bore into hers instantly and Ava lost her interest in you just as fast, too busy burning a hole in Nyssa's head with her glare. "What do you think of this  _plan_?"

Sara frowns in understandable confusion – that was a completely redundant move and surely she realises Nyssa knows this, because redundant moves are very un-Demon-like; but she trusts her too innately to not go with it.

"I think it might be a good start," she inclines her head to the side in thought. "It won't solve all of our problems, but it might buy us some time." Nyssa nods her reserved understanding and Sara continues. "But it can't be our only plan. I think this it too good for us to be able to make it seem undesirable enough while keeping it realistic."

She is right, of course, and there is no level high enough that is safe, where you could take it and it wouldn't eventually lead to the same end result. This needs to be dealt with here, swift, clear, silent and final. And you are glad, at the back of your mind, that it is so. The amount of bureaucracy gives you a headache just thinking about it.

"So the plan is I fake reports and charts and reviews," Ava speaks, raising her hand to press the bridge of her nose in a gesture you recognise as an attempt to keep away the incoming bureaucracy-induced headache, "and while they drown in that, we come up with a better plan."

"Yup," Sara pops the p out happily. "And Zari can switch their electronic files and they," she gestures to Nyssa and her troupe – you've noticed she's been avoiding calling her by her name in front of Ava – "can swap the hard files."

Nyssa nods her silent concurrence solemnly.

Fiss has been getting crowded in the stiff room, so it comes as no surprise when he silently informs you that he'll head out for a few moments to stretch out. You feel it too, but one of you has to stay here and you have slightly higher tolerance.

"And what is the  _better_ plan," Ava wants to know, because of course she is not stupid, she is clever and perceptive and right now annoyingly so. "You said it yourselves, this isn't something that will just go away."

"Somebody needs to go," you blurt out louder than you anticipated and all eyes fall on you.

"We can't just  _kill_  Nate's father and we can't send the creatures back to hell because—"

"No," you interrupt the tall blonde, "somebody needs to go  _now_. There's someone at the door, someone..." you close your eyes and Fiss blinks an image of a face, he's clueless but alert so you know you know the woman, only if you knew where from. Your mind reels hot, it was a picture, a head-shot..."Michaels, Lyla Michaels. She's the Director of—"

"ARGUS," Sara cuts you off, already on the move. "I know her. Is Fiss there? I'll try and stop her and if it doesn't work you need to get out," she turns to Nyssa before disappearing through the door. That her words include you, too, can go unspoken for the moment.

Ava looks confusedly around. "Why is the director of ARGUS a problem? If she's a friend of Sara's—"

"You called it yourself. Her Demon Highness here is gracing the top of every intelligence agency wanted list," you smirk. "Except from yours. For the time being." That joke was too good to pass on, especially with the sneaky jab it hides.

"I have worked with Lyla before," Nyssa's melodic voice is so serene there could be a moon reflection on it and you think you might need to pick your jaw off the ground, partly because that was  _funny_ , but mostly because you can't believe she just threw you under the bus like that  _just_ to get back at you. It was well-deserved, you'll admit, but still. "Although that was before she was the director."

Ava looks more and more confused with each word and eventually seems to have given up.

 _They're coming in_ , Fiss' voice suddenly announces, he's already on his way back at a neck-break speed.  _Nyssa is cool, but I don't think Sara realised about us_.

You curse Sara to ninth hell and back and quickly look around – Ava's top criteria when picking a location for a secret meeting is clearly  _simple and_   _easily defensible_ , but that also means there aren't many escape routes. You hated the place the moment you set foot in here and now, with the amount of time you have, it leaves you spectacularly stuck and with very few options. Hearing the voices from the corridor, you drop under the centre table and sneak to the side opposite to the door, trusting your dæmon to take care of himself. Nyssa met your eyes the second before you disappeared and her expression was just a tad too amused for your current taste. True to her nature however, her legs move to stand behind you, her nine shadows following as one, effectively blocking you the best they can. Now you just have to keep quiet and maybe stab Sara's foot while you're at it.

"Ms al-Ghul," you hear an unfamiliar female voice seconds later. "It's good to see you. And it's also good to know you're back in town. Business is good?"

"We are here to prevent trouble, not to cause it," your sister replies evenly, but there is a strange edge to her voice. "Congratulations on your promotion are in order, I believe."

"Same to you," the woman moves curtly on. "And you must be Director Sharpe. Time Bureau?" Ava's legs move forward to what you assume is a handshake as she responds and the ARGUS director ends the short pleasantries session by a simple and wary acknowledgement of "Dr Palmer," and "Everyone else."

"So, what brings you here," Ava cuts right to the chase and Lyla chuckles mirthlessly.

"We've had this building under surveillance for weeks," she says and you shortly wonder how angry would Sara be if you stabbed Ava's foot instead. Nyssa would probably appreciate it, if she doesn't beat you to it. "When I saw it was you, I erased the tapes, cut the recording and came here to inspect myself. Thought it'd be better than a go-team."

"Better for the go-team for sure," Sara mutters quietly and you smile. "Well thank you for that, Lyla," she continues at a normal volume, "we will get out of your hair. How is Dig and little Johnny?" You see Sara's feet move regrettably from your reach, no doubt to intercept the other woman and steer her in the direction of the door. Director Michaels' laughter and response slowly fade out in the corridor. You remove the hand you put on Nyssa's shin to keep her in place while Sara's out and extract yourself from under the table. With true Nanda Parbat efficiency, the assassins have already cleared the room of any and all evidence of your presence and, at Nyssa's direction, one of them pulls out a large silk scarf from their robe and hands it to you. Counting in your mind from the moment you heard the front door click shut, you quickly wrap it around your head in a practised motion.

"Three, two, one, out, move," you instruct as Fiss confirms your estimate from where he is already waiting for you outside, watching Michaels enter the building on the opposite side of the street. "We have ninety seconds to get out before she puts the surveillance system back online."

The group files out swiftly, Nyssa's people spreading across the perimeter and seemingly disappearing, only her second staying at her side. Sara joins you, Ava and Ray, and Fiss jumps into the air as you exit, already in his favourite harrier form. His call echoes off the buildings as he soars above them to alert Nyssa of his position and you see her wave at him in recognition. She mutters something into her comm and takes off ahead with the rest of you in tow.

As you progress through the town, you feel more than see the League members fluctuate around you – three stayed behind to make sure you aren't followed, three went ahead to wherever you're going and two are oscillating at your sides.

Nyssa is absolutely seething and you can tell – it's rolling off her back, dancing on her arms as she moves. Nyssa is seething and Sara can tell. Sara is pretty pissed and also slightly embarrassed on her girlfriend's behalf; Ava is just slightly embarrassed and about thirty seconds away from asking where is Nyssa leading you.

From his vantage point, Fiss reports that the three assassins who are leading the way are heading towards the docks. That is not surprising at all, you think. Nyssa came here with a large crew, and despite the short notice, boat was a logical option.

Suddenly, Nyssa stops and mutters something into her second's ear before disappearing. The figure seems to have gotten the message and turns to you, motioning you to stop.

"What is going on," Ava asks confusedly, while Sara takes an indecisive step into the direction where Nyssa disappeared.

"Ra's al-Ghul has business to attend to," the figure speaks and you recognise the voice – it's Al-Dil', one of Nyssa's oldest and most loyal companions. He's about your age, maybe a little older – you helped Nyssa when she was training him and his devotion to her mirrors his name just as much as his stealthiness. Dark eyes flicker above his shamagh and when they meet yours, he nods in recognition.

"It is best we part for the day," he says. "We will get ready to intercept the files the Department of Defence has on project Hades and swap them with the fabricated ones. You know how to contact us if we need to meet prior to tomorrow morning. Almufadlat, I am to accompany you."

You just nod, his message is simple and clear, though he hardly realises the full scope of it – Nyssa is off somewhere, busy with her version of screaming-into-a-pillow-in-frustration fit and it's time for you to earn your daily – yearly – bread as the favourite of the League. Despite the bravado you put up as you stepped in to break the fight between the assassins who came to the Time Bureau and Ava and Nate, it was a knee-jerk reaction. You only stopped to think about what your father's death might mean to your status in the League as you were standing there and a slight shiver ran down your spine. You  _do_  have some personal pull, but due to your removed position it would only get you so far. And as the case in the Bureau showed, not all current League members know who you are. Nyssa is giving you a chance to reassert yourself after the powers shifted. But admittedly, you are not entirely happy about the form in which the opportunity comes. Your mind and your moral conviction were fine with the idea of  _training_  the people who work for the organisation that in so many ways pretty much existentially opposes your life's work for two months a year – especially since it's where most of your training in that field comes from and you were mostly able to write it off as a unique opportunity to hone your own skills – but actually leading a mission for that organisation is another matter altogether. And you are not sure you'll be able to edge your way around that so easily.  _Be the leaf_ , you think sardonically.  _Be the fricking leaf_.

But when Fiss descends next to you, you can't even try to pretend you haven't had a yen for it since that night at the Bureau.

He turns quickly from his go-to airborne marsh harrier form to his outright favourite amur leopard he's been in when grounded pretty much ever since you slapped Ava against the wall outside the gym on the Waverider and heard him growl at Sara, because that's  _his_  knee-jerk reaction. You were both enjoying the lightness of a cheetah while on board, but pieces fall together smoothly like this, you can both feel it. Your mother's langur dæmon wasn't able to change – you remember she explained to you that in her world, people's dæmons take on a single form when they grow up; and you and Fiss would often joke that you never grew up, since he's able to change at will. In a serious moment, you'd argue it's got more to do with your genetics than your shared and arguable lack of maturity – regardless, you are glad for it. Because Fiss is convinced that if he was to be stuck in one form, it'd be this one – and having an amur leopard, however sleek and stealthy, for a companion would make your life eminently difficult. But now he's been lounging around in the same form he always preferred when in Nanda Parbat – the only place you could unquestionably just  _be,_  an inseparable unit without the need to hide, despite and in face of all the other shit that was going down – and his delectation is catching.

And because of that, you nod shortly to Al-Dil' in understanding and step off with your dæmon in the direction of the League's ship confidently.

"Where are you going?" Ava fires and you're not sure if it's concern or contempt you hear in her voice.

"My sister and I are due for a talk," you decide to humour her, it's a truth, though not the whole truth. Nyssa  _did_  want to talk and you  _will_  need to. And it will likely happen today, when she's back from wherever she is. "I'm sure you two will manage on your own, as long as you keep clear of places with cameras and bugs."

She doesn't argue with that and allows you to leave without any more hindrance.


	9. Smoke and Mirrors

Al-Dil' led you to the League's ship – it's a freighter, turned to accommodate the League's purpose of a mobile base. As you step on board, Fiss lands next to you and turns into a leopard.  _Showtime_ , you hear him and hide your smile. Showtime indeed.

There are thirteen assassins standing at the bridge, and you turn to Al-Dil', who nods his confirmation – everyone is here. Walking up, heads started turning your way and about half of them took the knee in an official greeting. The rest followed with varying levels of hesitation – the newbies, then. You motion for them to stand and they start to remove their head-wear.

"Were we followed here," you start of, looking around to see which ones will answer. A woman steps forward, lowering her head, and you recognise her – it's Alharir, one of the senior members.

"You were, Almufadal, but we were able to lead them astray. Three men whom we believe to be ARGUS – they lost you before you turned in the direction of the docks. Then they picked up Ta'er Al-Safer's trail and followed them, which we allowed."

You nod your approval – wherever Sara went was unlikely harmful to be ARGUS knowledge. Scanning the group for familiar faces, you form a quick plan. Given the make-up of the group, Nyssa clearly used this opportunity as a training exercise.

"Al-Minzar, you and your deshi will take the first watch. Report any movement before engaging, Alharir and her deshi will take over from you in three hours time. Then you are to find me or Ra's al-Ghul and we will catch you up on the plan."

The man bows his head in understanding and leaves, followed by his pupil.  _Score_ , Fiss notes,  _nice catch_.

You cracked the pattern, so from there on it's smooth sailing – the plan was already pretty much drafted beforever you walked in and now it's just a matter of explaining and assigning roles – between you and Fiss, you manage to recall and gauge the areas of expertise of all of the League members you recognise, so you just go by that. By the time Nyssa walks in, you have opened the discussion for their suggestions and ideas – there aren't many, so you release them shortly afterwards.

"I returned back and made sure the tapes were truly erased and no copies were made," she tells you when everyone has left and you nod your gratitude. "Al-Minzar and Hui are on watch?"

"For another hour," you nod again. "Then it's Alharir and..." you look at her in question.

"Zehra," she supplies and proceeds to recite the names of the rest of the pairs. The only ones not assigned a pupil are Al-Dil' and...

"And Sharara?"

"She's your detail," Nyssa almost smirks and you fight the scowl that's making its way to your face, growing only more annoyed when you realise it's fighting with a blush over who goes first. Sharara is what you'd call a good friend now, but  _damn let it go i_ _t's been almost fifteen years_ , you think with an indignant huff.

"She was very excited about the prospect of seeing you. And I can't very well have you running around alone."

You decide to swallow both your pride and the biting answer about  _doing that_   _literally All. The. Time_ and instead opt to focus on a more pressing issue – because if she thought bringing your first crush along was funny, what awaited her here must have made her look back at that decision and think something profoundly indelicate about karma – much like you had earlier, thinking of your  _family emergency_  aka the lamest excuse of the year.

You don't have to wait long.

"You never mentioned about Ta'er Al-Safer," she remarks with a brave attempt at off-handedness, and you are glad – you half expected her to avoid it completely and half to go off about it in a formal settings where you'd have little room to navigate.

"I did not expect you to come in person," you admit. "And it was not my place to divulge the information in the first place."

Nyssa considers this, emotions swirling behind her dark eyes.

"Is she happy?" she asks softly finally, in a rare moment of vulnerability. It's almost not there and yet it tugs at your heart, for the both of them.

"I do not know," you answer truthfully. "She seems content enough." Fiss leans against your leg in a comfort gesture you know he's aching to provide to her.

The silence stretches between you and you let it envelop around comfortably.

A soft knock breaks the air as effectively as an explosion would have and even before Al-Dil's voice announces Al-Minzar's presence through the door, you snap back without a second thought. Distantly, you've always marvelled at the finesse of this particular  _reflex_  your father all but beaten into all three of his daughters. With a blink of an eye, you feel your spine straightening and your mind feels like it's got a wall slapped to it – you know your eyes grew grey just as Nyssa's grew a shade darker and the two sisters that have just shared as much a heart-to-heart as their arguably somewhat crippled emotional capacity allows them are no more – Al-Minzar and everyone else will only see former Waritha al-Ghul, now Ra's al-Ghul, and Almufadal al-Ghul; daughters of the Demon.

You brief him and Hui on the plan and send them out as Nyssa calls Al-Dil' and Sharara in. You are back in your official mode now, and the change is palpable because she needs this, needs the touch of normalcy and control to anchor her whir-winding soul. So you don't say a word and take your place at her right side, a foot too far for discomfort, a foot too close for a second, Fiss a sitting statue at your feet.

"Sharara, your task on this mission is ensuring the safety of Almufadal, as discussed previously. You are not to leave her side unless directly ordered by her or myself. Go and gather your things."

Sharara meets your eyes briefly before nodding her understanding and taking her leave. Nyssa then gives her orders to Al-Dil', too, and you wait for him to leave before moving to follow him out of the door. Sending Sharara to pack was a second-handed dismissal, so you are surprised when she stops you.

"I hope this does not create any complications for you, sister."

You turn to face her.

"It does." Complete obedience and absolute honesty were the two rules you were raised to play by, and the latter  _always_  came first. "But it needs to be done and right now this is the best approach."

She nods slowly in agreement and you return the gesture, turning again to leave.

"I am glad you are here," you hear when you reach the door and this time you don't turn, although you do stop. "We shall have much to talk about once this is dealt with."

"That is my sentiment, also."

Outside the door, Sharara already waits in civilian clothes, holding her sword case and two duffel bags. You raise your eyebrow in question.

"Your uniform," she explains the second duffel and you wait till your back is turned to smile.

* * *

Having returned back the Waverider, Sara gave the team cliffnotes of their new arrangement with the League of Assassins after Ava left for the Bureau.

"Okay but why don't we just let the Time Bureau handle it?" Zari asks, successfully ignoring Mick's gleeful comments about ninjas.

"Because and at the end of the day, we fall under the Time Bureau," Sara responds resolutely, hoping she's only imagining the slight tremor in her voice. "Their problems  _are_  our problems. And we care about the fate of the magical creatures hoarded up there."

"And because Sara has a history with the League, so she's in a good position to mitigate the cooperation," Ray pipes up. "Although I guess Grey  _also_  has a history with the League," he adds slightly confusedly.

As if her ears were itching, the woman and her dæmon walk up, closely followed by another who looks to be in her late thirties who nods her greetings in Sara's direction. The the rest of the Legends collectively turn their heads to the new arrivals.

"As soon as Ava has those files, the League people are ready to move," Nasima informs the plenum without any preamble. "ARGUS people followed you, but I'm guessing you weren't doing anything too compromising?" she turns to Sara, who shakes her head in a negative. "Then all is set and in place. We're just gonna go settle and then dinner?"

"Okay," Zari speaks up rather forcefully, "I think we are due for some answers here. Like who the hell are you, and also who is this," she jerks her head towards the new face, "and about a thousand others."

The scene grows momentarily silent; it seems like everyone including Zari is holding their breath, anticipating Nasima's reaction. When a short smile flickers across her page, a collective breath is released discreetely.

"This is Sharara," Nasima's smile grows lukewarm at best, still not quite ready to let go of that jab. "And as for the rest...can you lot eat and listen at the same time, maybe? I am famished, to be honest, and this is a tad heavier than it looks," she lifts the duffel she's holding and the woman next to her snorts out a short laugh.

Deciding to account for some of her most recent shortcomings, Sara calls Ava to ask her to join them for dinner – certainly she has some questions too, and since Nasima pretty much already volunteered to take care of that part, Sara has no quells about killing two birds with one stone and delegate most of Ava's questions to her to answer.

* * *

"Okay," Nasima's eyes are dancing with amusement as she pokes her dinner, "you each have three questions. I don't care who starts. And try to make them as specific as possible," she frowns a little. "We will answer as honestly as we can but we ain't got all night."

"And we reserve the right to pass one question from each of you," Fiss adds and she nods in agreement.

"Who is  _she_?" Charlie opens, frowning as she points at Sharara.

 _"She_ ," Nasima responds with a light frown of her own, "is a  _person_ , and present, and fully capable of speaking for herself. As such, she's excluded from the questions."

Sharara smiles and leans forward slightly. "Thank you,  _harira_. But having that established, I do not mind answering, if you allow."

Zari's eyes narrow and Sara's widen almost imperceptibly at the pet name as Nasima bristles lightly in what would be a childish embarrassment if anyone believed her to be capable of such emotion. But she waves her hand in a go-ahead gesture and leans back in her chair.

"As Almufadal said when we arrived, my name is Sharara," the woman speaks, her voice devoid of the previous playful lilt, coloured with an accent that's hard to place. "I am here – and anywhere else she goes – to ensure her safety."

"Do we really need another assassin on board," Ava utters and it's Sara's turn to bristle with the second-handed implication.

"Two, three, does it really make a difference," Zari mutters lightly with a smile that Sharara returns. But something in Ava's tone made Sara push for a defensive.

"I am a  _reformed_  assassin," she says, trying to keep her tone conversational.

"And I am  _not_  an assassin," Nasima adds, affronted. "So really it's just one. Next."

"Okay," Ava looks like she's on a warpath now. "Who are  _you_?"

Nasima blinks. "I am Nasima al-Ghul, daughter of the Demon. My father was the previous Ra's al-Ghul and Nyssa, the current Ra's al-Ghul, is my older sister."

"But you said you're not an assassin," Ray joins in, perplexed. "How is that possible?"

"Unlike Nyssa, I was not born in Nanda Parbat," she answers with a shrug. "And when it came down to it, I was afforded the opportunity to make a... _different_   _call_." Her words are careful and measured and Sara's eyes are on her. She knows them to be true, but it's like saying hurricanes make mess. While true, it doesn't come even  _close_  to relaying the full extent of the reality. "Hence I am not in fact an assassin, despite my affiliation. I was raised in the League, but I have never been a fully fledged member."

"What do you do," Ava continues her interrogation forcefully.

"Pass."

After her resolute answer, it takes a while for anyone to speak up again.

"So you're not a ninja like them," Mick states with obvious discontent, motioning between me and Sharara as Nasima frowns in confusion.

"They are not ninjas, Mr Rory," Fiss answers, amusement obvious in his voice. "But for all intents and purposes, they all received the same training. I assure you she is as well-versed with all  _things_   _ninja_ as ninjas themselves."

"I met ninjas," he grunts in response. "Took them out."

"Perhaps you would like a re-run, then," the leopard replies lightly and Nasima adds "I would be more than happy to break a couple of bones of your own choosing, if you feel my skills need testing."

He doesn't answer that, too busy watching Fiss' tail swish around, and Zari chuckles before taking her turn.

"Did you train Sara when she was in the League?"

Nasima meets my eyes before answering, mirthful.

"We had a couple of trial goes, yes. But she had a different mentor."

Sharara smirks lightly at her words and Sara thinks she's pretty sure she knows why – her first  _trial go_  with the Ra's al-Ghul's youngest was a result of a careless sword-swipe that ended in Sharara's triceps during one of her lessons with Raqisa. After the injured woman collected herself and departed for the infirmary, a figure stormed in and informed Raqisa she'd  _take it from here._  The fear in her teacher's eyes, combined with the obedient resignation with which she nodded her understanding as she stepped away, told Sara how much trouble she was in even before Raqisa said her  _as you command, Almufadal_  and Sara connected a few hitherto individual dots that were floating around in the space of League ways she had yet to understand. Sharara wasn't there to witness how the young blonde got her ass handed to her repeatedly and quite brutally in one to ten second intervals for close to an hour, but many others were, and Sara is pretty sure that tale lives to this day. Privately, she's pretty sure they'd would probably still be there, had Nyssa not—

"And what's the matter with him?"

John's question tore Sara from the wind-whirl of her mind, pulled her from the edge of the mællstrom, and she breathes out in relief, unnoticed by all but Fiss.

"I thought you already covered that," Nasima turns to him in confusion, and he nods, tearing his gaze away from the timeship Captain to address the warlock.

"I am a dæmon. A part of her. I told you the first time we met."

"But you didn't tell me  _how_ , did you," John grimaces. "Are you from a different world? You said people in different worlds are the same _._ "

"I said that  _t_ _here is a universe where everyone is like this_ , which is quite different. We are not from another world. We were born on the same Earth as all of you. Most of you," he adds with a complimentary nod towards Charlie.

"But how does  _this_ ," John motions between Fiss and Nasima, "happen on this Earth? It's not exactly common. You said it yourself," he looks at Fiss again, "there are a few like you, but not many. How does that happen?"

"I cannot speak for those who aren't here," Fiss replies. "We ourselves don't personally know anyone with a dæmon right now. We only ever heard stories."

"My mother was not from this universe," Nasima speaks up rather unexpectedly, tearing her gaze away from Sharara, her tone dismissive. "She travelled here and lost her way back. We were born here. And that is all of your questions, John Constantine."

Sara realises she has never heard her talk of her mother; or of herself, at all. Most of their conversations that were not League-related were about her and her previous life. Or her life in the League. All she know about the youngest al-Ghul's past is from stories that others told her, stories of a little child who's mother died shortly before she was brought to Nanda Parbat. She grew up to be the Demon's rebelious favourite daughter with an equivocal status – a formidable warrior and a ghost, or rather a breeze, true to her name, sweeping into the hollow halls of Nanda Parbat with summer and disappearing when the nights got longer. Now she looks contemplative and the shade of darkness haunting her features makes her look more like her sister than Sara has ever seen.

"What's your favourite ice-cream flavour," she asks and the spell is broken, Nasima's demeanour reshaping as quickly as her dæmon changes forms – blink and it's gone.

"Mango," she replies easily, "one down for Captain Lance. Director Sharpe has one more to go, the rest has two. Mr Constantine is out. Don't think no-one is keeping track."

"Why don't you want to see the future?" It's Zari, clearly angling to get the answer she was denied the first time she asked this question.

"What good comes from that," Nasima answers thoughtfully, shrugging. "Future is supposed to be fluctuant, right? Nothing set in stone and all that. I don't need to...I don't need to see  _coulds_  and  _woulds_  become  _cans_  and  _wills_  if that's only what  _might_  be. Choose your battles wisely sort of thing."

Zari furrows her eyebrows thoughtfully, but Ray steps in with another question.

"How do you," he points at Fiss, but then flickers his eyes to Nasima in slight confusion, "or you... _you_ , how do you know about nutrition and all that, I mean..." he trails off uncertainly. " I mean," he tries again but Fiss takes mercy on him.

"We  _did_  go to school, you know. Know all 'dem big words and everything. In like,  _tongues_."

Ray's eyes widen slightly as Nasima's narrow and amusement flickers across Sharara's impassive face.

"Where," Ava fires and Nas' eyebrows shoot up.

"England," she replies, drawing the word out, letting her accent emphasise her point. "I really thought you were saving your last question for something a little more substantial than this, Director."

Ava bristles at the realisation and Fiss' eyes glimmer momentarily with victory – they played her like a fiddle and had her dancing to her own tune.

"Why did you come here?" This time Charlie speaks and Ava recovers a little, glad someone asked. Nasima looks at Sara briefly before answering.

"Sara called and asked me to hang out with you lot for a while. I am told my...skill sets are quite sought after. And I thought it wasn't a horrible idea."

Everyone is eyeing her suspiciously, but Sara is fairly certain this is the most honestly truthful thing she's said so far. Void of sarcasm and her usual tip-toeing.

"What is so funny about  _being the leaf_?" Zari inquires, obviously less concerned about facts and fishing for stories instead, in stark contrast with Ava. Sara laughs, both at Zari's intentions and at Sharara's eyes, because they go almost comically wide as she turns to Nasima apprehensively.

"Say that again slowly," Nasima's eyes are alight with merriment, the smile on her face wide.

Zari scowls a little and Sara chuckles.

"It's Sharara's catchphrase," she tells her. " _'An-yakun almubariz kafaa'atan, yjb ealaa almar' 'an-tataharak' mithl waraqat fi mahb alriyh_ ," she recites the words she's heard a thousand times over as they echoed through the dōjōs, parroted by Raqisa and many others. " _To be a proficient swordsman, one must move like the leaf in the wind_. Everyone in the League who chose sword as their primary lives by it."

"There is a dance, too," Nasima smirks impishly, wagging her eyebrows, but Sharara strikes back, straight-faced and solemn, without missing a beat.

"You really would know best, Almufadal. You invented it."

"I did, didn't I," Nasima clearly isn't too put off, her eyes glowing gently in reminiscence. "You said I was not taking my education seriously and almost cut me in half," her fingers idly trace a faint scar that starts a couple of inches below her right clavicle and ends somewhere off to her shoulder under the t-shirt. Then her eyes snap back into present, full of mischief. "She was calling me Twinkle Toes for weeks. Fortunately, it didn't catch."

Sara looks up, intruqued, as the nickname jogs her memory. "Didn't you try shooting someone for calling you that?"

"I didn't  _try_ ," Nasima scoffs indignantly. "I never  _try_. I shot him. That's probably why it didn't catch."

"Probably," Sharara retains her poker face, her dedication to the cause quite admirable. "The poor man nearly died. And you tore your stitches out."

Nasima frowns. "My father banned me from the infirmary for a week after that," she sneers. "If that man-child thought an arrow in the leg was bad, he never had to let Nyssa stitch him up. Her hand was considerably less steady back then than it is now. It's a miracle I survived."

Sara wills herself to not slip, but she finds it imposible, the words "When was this," out before she can stop them from leaving her mouth; at the same time with Sharara's uttered "She was barely eleven at the time, harira."

But Ava didn't miss it and the look on her face as she's studying Sara's fills the latter with strange guilt. The words were too soft, too longing, she knows, but much like an arrow shot, there is no taking them back.

"You  _shot_   _a man_  for calling you Twinkle Toes?" Zari asks incredulously.

Nasima shrugs. "We both gained a crucial understanding of bounds that day," she replies off-handedly. "Live and learn. If you don't," she pauses slightly, "well then you don't."

The sinister undertone of her twist on the saying is not lost on anyone.

"How come both you and Nyssa have British accent," Ray speaks after a moment of silence.

"Like I said," she answers, "I went to school in England. And Nyssa learnt and practised English with me the most. And when young, our tutor was English, too. And that's almost it." She looks up to watch Mick stand and walk over to the kitchen.

"I'm going to bed," he mutters and she smiles.

"Raincheck it is, Mr Rory. The walking definition of over and out."


End file.
